


Divide and Rule

by thisbluespirit



Series: Heroes of the Revolution [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: 1930s, 1940s, 1950s, 20th Century, Alternate History, Backstory, Character Death, Community: genprompt_bingo, Community: hc_bingo, Community: origfic_bingo, Community: runaway_tales, Divorce, F/M, Family Saga, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Loss, Marriage of Convenience, Multi, Politics, Rocks Fall Everyone Dies, Spies & Secret Agents, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, World War II, parental abandonment
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-07
Updated: 2017-03-07
Packaged: 2019-11-13 12:01:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 75
Words: 198,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18031361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisbluespirit/pseuds/thisbluespirit
Summary: 1961: the last democratic British government falls, and the dictator Thomas Hallam rises to power; 1947: Edward Iveson meets the daughter of an old family friend in a mortuary.  These two things may be more closely connected than anyone would expect...





	1. Prologue - Ultimatum (G, 1959: Edward Iveson, Thomas Hallam, Julia Graves)

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written for the LJ community Runaway Tales. As that is now defunct & looking shakier by the day, I've decided to put most of these over here in case anyone would still like to read them. Many of them were also written for various fandom bingo prompts, especially Hurt/Comfort Bingo.
> 
> I wrote these a while ago, a lot were fairly experimental (as per the nature of the comm), and while I'm still pleased with much of it, it's also fair to say some of the things I learned were that I would do things _very_ differently now & there are topics I wouldn't have tried to cover in any other situation. They were written 2014-2017 & I have only made minor edits (if any) to most of them.
> 
>  _Divide and Rule_ was originally conceived as a [fake TV show](https://lost-spook.livejournal.com/412870.html) which provides the overarching structure for these individual pieces. All the chapters were originally posted as their own piece for the comm, although some of them (especially 1949-1954 & 1960-61 sections) follow on more closely from each other. This collection is chronological, but the pieces were originally written & posted in a random order. I've made it as navigable as possible via the chapter index. The main Edward/Julia story runs from 1947-1961; most of the earlier pieces are backstory for them & other characters.
> 
> See each chapter for notes/warnings on that piece - there's nothing graphic & much of it is fairly light & includes some pure fluff, it does by its nature deal with some dark themes and has a very bleak ending.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mr Hallam wants a word with Edward Iveson. It’s the end of everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompts: Papaya #1 (because I said so); Passionfruit #26 (What if the dawn of a doom of a dream bites this universe in two)

Edward Iveson raised his head in mute enquiry as his secretary tapped on the door. 

“It’s Mr Hallam, sir,” said the secretary. “He wants to see you. Says it’s urgent.”

Edward Iveson rose from his chair, with a repressed sigh. “Well, in that case, you had better show him in.” He had no liking for Hallam, but the man wasn’t one to pay casual calls or raise false alarms, and in any case he had something of the bulldog about him – hard to shake off. Better to get the inevitable over with.

“Foreign Secretary,” said Thomas Hallam, almost colliding into him at the doorway. “I’m glad I’ve caught you.”

Iveson closed the door behind Hallam, and moved back across to his desk. “Oh?”

“I needed a word in private.”

Iveson raised an eyebrow. “Well? Here we are. What did you want?”

“Your help,” said Hallam, taking the seat opposite. “The Prime Minister’s refusal to address the current crisis is getting past a joke. We can’t sit here and wait for things to get better.”

Hallam had no lack of confidence; he leant back in the chair and continued to regard Iveson directly and with interest. He straightened himself and Iveson noted again the underlying sense of power, of repressed energy. It was Iveson’s office, and he had the practised, easy authority of his position, but in comparison to Hallam, that seemed suddenly to be a mere front, covering something more breakable. 

Iveson turned his fountain pen over in his hands. “I won’t argue with you about that. However, I doubt I can help. You have rather more drastic ideas than I’m willing to countenance – your policies are also rather isolationist and you know I think that Europe is going to have to work together if we’re to build a more constructive future.”

“Given the state of half of Europe now, it’s too late for that,” said Hallam. “You see, this is the problem – none of you will face reality! What will you do? Sit there, bleating on about co-operation until everything falls apart? And then you’ll take yourself somewhere else and regret the tragedy as Britain falls, I suppose.”

Iveson put down the pen sharply. “Mr Hallam, you said you wanted my help. If this is merely –”

“I should have put that better, shouldn’t I?” he said. “I’m going to have your help, one way or another. You don’t have a choice.”

Iveson was a mild-tempered man, but that was going too far. He gave Hallam a cold stare, his mouth thinning into a line, and then he said, “Mr Hallam, I suggest you leave now.”

“Why?” said Hallam. “I’m not going anywhere, Foreign Secretary, not till I’ve finished. You see, I have a contact in the security services. A certain detail about leaked information is now in my possession, and it’s something you’re going to want me to keep quiet. Well, help me and I will. Don’t and I won’t.” He shrugged. “Fairly simple, isn’t it?”

Iveson met his accusing stare, his face as carefully blank as he could manage. “I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”

“That’s possible, of course,” said Hallam. “I was assuming you were a traitor rather than a complete fool, but I could be wrong. What is it that crackpot pacifist group are called again? Unified Europe, isn’t it? Something like that. Of course, it’s hardly the KGB, but it isn’t something the Foreign Secretary should have any contact with, is it? Throw in its more violent actions in France and Germany lately, and that rumoured connection with the Russians, and it’s even more worrying.”

Iveson kept his temper. “I have no connection with any such group – I never have.”

“No?” said Hallam, and laughed suddenly. “Technically true, I suppose, but your wife is a member and has sent them information that can only have come from this office.” He fished inside his jacket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. “There is a copy of this,” he added, “but I thought you’d want to see the proof.”

Iveson looked down at the notes on the paper and closed his eyes. So, the end had come. He had known it would, back when it had begun, but it had been so long now he’d almost forgotten.

“So,” said Hallam, “either I get rid of you, or you get rid of some of my other obstacles for me. The Prime Minister, the Home Secretary, a few of the others.”

Iveson blinked. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting Hallam’s demand to be, but it wasn’t that. “You imagine I can?” he said in bemusement. “What do you think I am?”

“By the end of the week,” said Hallam. “I want scandal in the press, the resignation of a senior figure in the government, whatever you can manage. It could be you, of course, but I’d rather it was the Home Secretary. You’re in the party, you’ve known most of them for years, and you’re an observant man. You can come up with something more easily than I can. Some rumour, lie or fact, I really don’t care – and if you can’t or won’t do it, then we’ll just have to throw your wife to the wolves, won’t we?”

Iveson watched him. “What makes you think I won’t let you do that – considering what you’ve just told me?”

“Come on, Iveson,” said Hallam. “If you didn’t know or suspect the truth already, you’d be outraged by the suggestion. Don’t fence with me.”

“Then I’ll resign.”

Hallam shrugged. “Either way, it works for me. Though – even if I let it go at that, would she stay with you once you were no longer useful?”

“I can’t possibly do as you say!”

Hallam leant forward and smiled at Iveson. “You can. And don’t look at me as if I’m the criminal here – I’m the one trying to get something done about the country before it’s too late. You’re the traitor. You deserve everything you’re about to get – you and her both.”

“Yes, yes, I do see,” said Iveson. He gripped his pen more tightly. “You’ll have your story, Mr Hallam, I promise.”

Hallam stopped, and gave him a curious look. “What, just like that?”

“You have made your point quite adequately,” said Iveson. “And I, as you say, am merely a traitor and no doubt a coward, and I’m rather surprised you expected anything else from me.”

Hallam shrugged, though his expression was still wary, maybe wondering what the catch was. “Tell anyone, and the story’s out. Keep quiet and do as I say, and you and your wife can stay where you are – as long as there aren’t any more careless leaks like the last. I can’t answer for the security services.”

Iveson nodded. “I see. That seems fair. Now, I do hope you’ll be leaving, Mr Hallam? I think I’ve had sufficient of your company for one day.”

“We need further rationing,” said Hallam, still seeming slightly puzzled by Iveson’s easy acquiescence. “More land given over to food production, rationalisation of resources – it’s got to be done. You’ll see.”

Iveson gave him a blank stare. “Will I?”

“I suppose that’s up to you,” Hallam said, with a shrug. He got up and walked out without looking back or bothering to shut the door behind him.

Iveson put his hand to his forehead and closed his eyes. Then he opened them again and leant forward. “Oh, God,” he said under his breath. “Julia.”

 

“You’ve forgotten again, haven’t you?” she said from halfway up the stairs as he walked in through the door. “Edward! You do this every time we’re supposed to have dinner with the Fields.”

Iveson halted, because he had, there was no denying that. He moved forward and looked up at her through the slats of the banister.

“Don’t worry,” she said, with a glance at her watch. “I’m sure we’ll be in time if you hurry.”

He swallowed, trying to find the words to break into the familiar exchange. “Julia.”

“Yes?” She came down the last few steps, and stopped at his side. “There’s nothing wrong, is there?”

Hallam thought him a traitor or a coward or a fool, or all three, and Iveson now proved him right. He shook his head. He didn’t really think she’d just leave; he didn’t really believe that of her, but still Hallam’s shot had gone home, and he was too afraid to take the risk tonight. It could wait a little while longer. 

“No,” he said, and shrugged off his coat, Julia taking it from him with a smile. “How long did you say I have?”

“Ten, fifteen minutes,” she said. “Now, _hurry_ , darling!”

Iveson did as he was told for the second time that day.


	2. Haunted House (G, Summer 1922: Edward Iveson & Nancy Long, John Iveson)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nancy and Edward take ghost-hunting a little too far…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompts: Prune #19 (like taking candy from a baby), Cookies & Cream #23 (break) & Whipped Cream + Malt – January Games Week 1 from fachefaucheux: _And, on a more fun note: what was the most trouble that Edward and Nancy managed to get themselves into as kids?_

The empty house lay a little way off across the fields. It was, of course, haunted. Edward and Nancy had decided that a long time ago. They had seen odd bits of movement in there – and even once an unexplained white shape at the window. Nancy claimed she had heard screams and moans, but Edward wondered privately if that might have been the wind. 

On this particular holiday, they had grown more daring in their supernatural investigations, creeping into the overgrown garden attached to the house, regardless of the scolding they would inevitably get if any of the adults of the family found out what they had been doing. The garden wasn’t enough to give them answers, however, and the inevitable result was Nancy spotting a window open and daring Edward to go inside.

They’d known they shouldn’t, of course; that even if sneaking into somebody’s garden could be forgiven, venturing into a stranger’s house would not be. It felt even worse once they were inside. The house might be empty of life as far as they knew, but it turned out it wasn’t empty of furniture or of somebody’s belongings. Edward looked at Nancy in mute dismay as she slid down from the window sill to join him. Nevertheless, they couldn’t go back either, not now they were here. They would never have this chance again. It wasn’t the sort of thing they could get away with twice.

Nancy stepped forward, and the floorboards creaked loudly under her foot, causing her to start and grab at Edward’s arm.

“We should go,” she said, under her breath. “We did it; now we can go.”

Edward disliked breaking the rules far more than she did, but he also had a stubborn streak, and now that they were here, he wanted to at least look beyond this room. They’d come to hunt down a ghost – they couldn’t run away this soon.

“Ned,” said Nancy, and kicked his shin.

He didn’t need to ask why, although he still found time to wish she wouldn’t do that. They both heard it: a clear noise from the next room. Edward found he was holding onto Nancy in return, but before they could make a retreat, that same white shape they’d seen through the windows was standing in front of them, its outlines wavering as if blowing in the breeze.

They both froze, one of them giving a yell – Edward wasn’t even sure which of them it was – and then the shape screamed back at them, and they ran, all but throwing themselves out of the window and landing back in the garden in the sunlight, but still terrified, with their hearts racing and thudding loudly in their ears. They ran again and didn’t stop until they were safely back in Edward’s parents’ garden, falling onto the grass in a breathless heap. Edward had a stitch, but he didn’t much care, too relieved to be back in safety.

“Goodness,” said a voice from somewhere above them. “Whatever is all this haste about?”

Edward looked up guiltily to see Father looking down at them. He sat up immediately, a new and different sort of alarm overtaking him. Nancy put a hand to his arm, and they exchanged a glance: a brief mutual agreement that this was too serious a matter _not_ to tell. They got the confession out by turns and without much coherence while Father merely stood and listened until they’d finished.

“Well,” Father said quietly. “You two can go and clean yourselves up and then, when you come back down, wait for me in the study. In the meantime, I shall be taking a brief trip down the lane – it sounds as if you may have scared poor Mrs Blackwell half to death.”

It ought to have made it better that there wasn’t a ghost, but it didn’t. Edward felt his heart sink right down into his stomach, a leaden, sick feeling.

“But that house is empty,” said Nancy, who didn’t seem to share his feelings, or not yet. “We wouldn’t have gone in if somebody lived there!”

Father raised his eyebrow. “I think, young lady, that the two of you have just conclusively proved that it _isn’t_ empty. And whatever stories you may have invented, I assure you that Mrs Blackwell lives there – and unless you’ve given the poor lady a heart attack, she’s not a ghost. Now, I suggest you do as you’re told.”

Nancy seemed about to open her mouth to argue again, so Edward hastily pinched her arm, and then led her up the stairs, letting her go into the bathroom first.

When she came out, she looked unusually pale and dark-eyed. “Do you think we really _did_ scare her to death?” Nancy said as she sat down on the bed. Her mouth gave an uncertain tremor. “She did scream an awful lot, didn’t she?”

Edward headed towards the bathroom. “I’m sure we couldn’t have done – I mean, I hope not. At least she didn’t think _we_ were ghosts.”

“Just burglars,” said Nancy from across the landing as he pushed the door shut. “Not very big ones, but I don’t suppose she liked it much when she saw us.”

Edward shut the bathroom door, and if Nancy had anything more to say, he didn’t hear it, until he finished washing his face and changing his clothes, and returned to find her still sitting on his bed, swinging her legs against the side. She looked up again as he came in. “Ned. I’ve never seen Uncle John angry before. What will he do?”

Edward stared ahead. Father had been away for a couple of years before this, and even when he had been here, he tended to leave the scolding to Mother. However, Edward had a few memories of being lectured in Father’s study and how awful it had been, but he didn’t know how to say to Nancy that Father would probably be reasonable until they both felt like worms, and then he would just _look_ at them and tell them he was disappointed in them, and it would be worse than whatever punishment he came up with after. He knew she wouldn’t understand.

 

“First,” said Father, as he sat down at the desk, Edward and Nancy standing opposite feeling like criminals, “I’m sure you’ll be relieved to hear that poor Mrs Blackwell seems to have survived the shock of encountering you two where you weren’t supposed to be. However, perhaps you could explain to me why, with permission to play in the garden and in the field behind it, you felt the need to steal into other people’s gardens – and then into their houses?”

Nancy gave Edward a look, but he was trying to ignore her and stared at his shoes instead. She took an audible breath and said, “Well, we thought it was haunted.”

“But you were still trespassing,” said Father, continuing to sound perfectly calm. “Even if it had been empty, that is a crime, you know.”

Nancy looked across at Edward again. He could tell somehow, even as he kept his gaze fixed on his shoelaces. “Well, we wanted to find out. I mean, if it _was_ a ghost.”

“Edward?” said Father.

He dragged his attention off the floor for long enough to nod.

“And you thought that was a good enough reason to warrant breaking so many rules? Good rules, I might add. Rules that were made to protect you as well as the unfortunate Mrs Blackwell.”

That was the sort of unfair thing that Father did, Edward knew. You couldn’t say yes to that sort of question and then you were left without a leg to stand on. He sighed, and raised his gaze at last. “No, sir.”

Nancy, beside him, shook her head, but she still wore a slightly more mutinous look, her mouth set in a line.

“Well, then,” said Father, “in that case, you may come with me to apologise to Mrs Blackwell. Ned, I suggest you run and ask the gardener for some flowers to take, eh?”

 

Going back into the house through the front door was, if anything, worse than creeping in through the back. Once they arrived at it from the right way around, it seemed only too obvious that it wasn’t deserted. While the garden could use a little more attention, it wasn’t anything like as overgrown as the back and there were curtains visible at all of the windows while an empty milk pot waited on the step by the front door. Edward and Nancy felt smaller and smaller as they dragged their feet up the drive, exchanging sheepish glances as they finally reached the porch and the tall black door set back in it.

Father knocked on the door and called out, but he pushed it open and led them in without waiting for anyone to answer. As he led them along a dark hallway towards a downstairs bedchamber, Nancy caught hold of Edward’s arm again while he fervently wished they’d never even heard of such a thing as ghosts.

Once they got inside, they found there was nothing worse than an elderly woman sitting in a high-backed chair by the bed, wearing a dressing gown but with a white nightdress underneath.

“So you’re my intruders,” she said, as Father ushered them in. “Yes, I see you properly now. What are your names?”

“I’m Nancy Long,” said Nancy, adding after a pause in which Edward didn’t speak, “and this is my cousin Ned – Edward Iveson. We’re both very sorry.”

Edward knew he couldn’t leave it all to Nancy. It wasn’t fair, and she’d never forgive him. “Yes, we are,” he agreed. “We were looking for ghosts, you see – and we truly are awfully sorry to have scared you.”

“Scared yourselves, too,” she said. “You thought I was a ghost, eh? Not yet, I’m happy to say.”

Edward looked across at Nancy again. “Yes,” he said. “And we promise never to do it again.”

“I don’t mind you coming in,” said Mrs Blackwell. “As long as you do it by the door and knock first. Come here, girl.” She held out a thin hand to Nancy, who cast an alarmed look at Edward, but stepped forward nonetheless. “You came in at the window, too, did you, miss?” She fingered Nancy’s plain summer frock for a moment and then let go of her. “Yes, in that you might. It was different in my day – too many petticoats and long skirts to trip you up, even when the boys would let you tag along. Else I suppose once upon a time, I might have tried climbing in windows myself.”

Since it was impossible to imagine the ancient Mrs Blackwell as ever being a child, Edward and Nancy could only exchange another glance. Nancy smiled back hopefully before at least taking advantage of the moment to present Mrs Blackwell with the flowers they had brought.

Father intervened then to apologise once again on their behalf, to ask her one more time if she was quite sure she didn’t need him to send for the doctor – Mrs Blackwell was something of an invalid these days – and when she assured him she didn’t, he marched the two of them out of the house.

 

Later, docked of two weeks’ pocket money, and under orders not to leave the garden without permission and having, even worse, had to give a promise to go with an adult to visit Mrs Blackwell at least twice over the holidays, Nancy looked at Edward.

“It wasn’t too bad,” she said. “I think Mother and Father would have grounded us forever. They still might when they hear about it.”

Edward nodded, but he could still see the look on Father’s face. Staring at his shoes hadn’t quite stopped him from glimpsing it.

“Buck up,” said Nancy, elbowing him and when he looked, she gave him a sympathetic grimace. “At least we didn’t kill that old lady. It’s just a shame,” she went on, “that it wasn’t a _real_ ghost. That would have been worth it, wouldn’t it?”

It might, Edward cautiously allowed, but it would be a long time before he could feel sure of it.


	3. In Memoriam (PG, 1923: Edward Iveson, John Iveson,  & Elizabeth Long)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How does someone say goodbye?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flavour of the Day (19/12/15) – valediction (an act of bidding farewell or taking leave.) (Flash fic.)
> 
> Notes/warning: Edward's childhood. Mentions of malaria, impending death of parent.

“You have to see him,” Elizabeth had said. “He knows. He’s too old _not_ to be told and, in any case, with Jane here, he’d have found out. She’s never been careful about what she says – and you know how Edward is for turning up in unexpected corners.” And when John had protested (he didn’t want Edward to see him like this, didn’t want this to be the way he remembered him) she’d said that that was selfishness, nothing but pride getting in the way.

He managed a smile, despite his current state of irritability. “Sympathetic to the last,” he’d said. He’d been thinking ever since what to say: there ought to be something he should say, but anything in that line seemed foolish and pompous. Do what you would, you could be in the wrong place at the wrong time and get bitten by the wrong mosquito, and there you were. He’d recovered, but apparently the malaria had caused complications with his liver, and so here he was, dying painfully after all, and leaving far sooner than he’d ever intended. He’d had to stifle the now familiar feeling of rage, born of intense frustration at his helplessness against the situation. Any attempts at fatherly wisdom seemed even more fatuous than usual.

The only thing to do was to be as normal as he could be in the circumstances, and that was what he tried for when Edward came in, pale but composed and looking with alarm at John in the bed. “Ned,” he said. “And what have you been up to?”

Edward sat down on the chair by the bed. “Not very much. Aunt Jane keeps making me go outside.”

“Ah,” said John, “and it’s not so much fun, is it, without your partner in crime?” In the normal way of things, Edward would have been spending most of the holidays with his cousins, Nancy in particular, but they were away. His half-sister Jane had come down from Scotland at the news and, while she _was_ helping, she wasn’t the sort of person to have much understanding of why anyone might want to sit about reading books when they could be doing something far healthier outside.

Edward nodded and then turned away suddenly, rubbing a hand across his eyes angrily.

“Now, now,” said John, reaching out a hand and, as Edward edged forward, he closed his fingers around Edward’s wrist. “No call for it yet. I’m still here – but, if you must, it’s a good deal better than you being glad to be rid of me, so don’t mind me. Come on, sit here. I’ve been thinking – we really ought to get young Ned the cabin boy out of that fix, eh?”

Edward, immediately looking a little happier, moved over to sit on the edge of the bed beside John.

“Now, where were we?” John asked. “Trapped in the cave still, I think?”

Edward nodded, and John continued: “So, there young Ned was, having the key at last, but now the tide was coming in fast, with no way out. But that’s not quite true, is it? Because of course, there was the only passage, far too narrow and steep for most people to climb – but not a problem for a slight young lad who’s been climbing up and down the rigging every day of his life.” He took story-Ned up through the narrow tunnel, avoiding a rock fall, and safely out at the other end. “And we already know where it leads, don’t we?”

“Straight into the library in the squire’s house,” said Edward.

“Indeed. And, pulling the string from round his neck, Ned put that key to the treasure chest right into the squire’s hands – where it belonged.” And with that, John shifted a little, pressing a key into Edward’s own hand and closing his fingers around it. “This here,” he said, as Edward gave him a startled look, as if he’d managed some magic trick, “it isn’t so exciting – certainly no treasure – but it’s the key to the red trunk in the attic. Some of your grandmother’s old things are inside it – a few of your aunt’s, too. And there really isn’t anybody in the world it can belong to but you, so you’d better take care of it now.”

 

There was no treasure in the trunk, perhaps, but what there was could be easily transformed by the imagination, especially when up in the attic with a candle. Edward hadn’t been able to keep away, going up there at first opportunity even though he couldn’t seem to find his torch. (Had he lent it to Nancy? he wondered, and thought he might have done).

Edward pulled out the curtain on the top that was covering the rest of the contents, and surveyed it with an impressed look, not taking any note of its faded patches or holes. It was green velvet and would make a splendid royal cloak, or at least, it would if Nancy was here to join him in such games. As for treasure, he pulled out an old brooch of jet and silver, and a small string of seed pearls. Next to them, he found some sepia photographs, old-fashioned cartes de visite with their posed Victorian subjects looking back out at him. He’d seen photographs of these people before, enough to recognise his late aunt in the young woman with a smile like Father’s and thick curly hair (again, like Father’s, and like his own when it wasn’t cut and combed to within an inch of its life, which people would do); and that the solemn family group was Grandfather Iveson with Grandmother Iveson, his aunt again, this time much younger, and the slightly blurry-faced toddler in a dress at his grandmother’s knee had to be Father. With the photographs were two small books with no dust jackets but with Grandmother’s name on the spine: Elinor R. Stephenson. When he opened them, though, the prose was too dense and dry to read much of, and the only pictures were several careful prints of pondweed. But it could be code, he decided, again with an eye to next time Nancy was here.

At the bottom, there were several old dresses, packed carefully in paper and moth balls that made him wrinkle his nose, but clearly they were treasure, too: fine silks, part of a stolen cargo, no doubt. He poked at the edges, not pulling them out: one in cream and yellowed lace that had perhaps once been white, another a satiny grey, and the third forget-me-not blue, an embroidered collar poking out of the paper where he’d tugged it loose.

Edward paused, kneeling on the nailed in floorboards by the trunk, thinking; until he pulled away suddenly, and climbed back down the ladder, only narrowly missing Aunt Jane in crossing the landing. He shut the door behind him as he reached his room, and then dived under the bed, drawing out his own small case of treasures, hunting through it for what he wanted: some fossils from Kilve (they’d had a holiday in the West Country, where Grandmother’s parents had come from), and a postcard photograph of his father, letters he’d sent him from abroad and the two very old toy soldiers (that Father said had been the only survivors of the battles of his youth), shoved all of it under his jumper and made a dash for the attic again.

Safely up there once more, he placed those things in the trunk with the rest and then sat down beside it, first blowing out the candle, then pulling the green curtain round him, and leaning back against the trunk, almost as if on guard.

Mother found him still there much later and, when she wanted to know what he was doing, he didn’t have any explanation for her, as he sheepishly tried to disentangle himself from the curtain; it had just felt like the right thing to do.


	4. [These Foolish Things] 1924: Mother (PG, 1924: Edward Iveson, Elizabeth Long)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She says goodbye at the station.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes/Warnings: originally the first section of a drabble (pocky) chain. Parental abandonment.
> 
> Passionfruit #24 (I am part of all that I have met), Prune #7 (somebody stop me)

_1924: Mother_

“You’re sending me away,” he said, finally breaking his sullen silence on the station platform.

“I’m sending you to _school_ ,” said Mother, tugging his jacket straight in lieu of a kiss goodbye. “There. And in summer you’ll stay with your cousins – you’ll enjoy that.”

“He made you.”

Mother sighed, lifting her head to watch as the train came in. “Ned, darling, it’s more complicated than that.”

 

One couldn’t cry on a train too full of other boys, so he stared out of the window hard. It didn’t matter what she said; she’d sent him away and didn’t want him back.


	5. Wolves at the Door (And Other Unlikely Tales) (G, 1925: Edward Iveson)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That time the summer term was one unlikely calamity after another (at least, according to Edward).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> White Chocolate #6 (defiance)
> 
> For an art prompt. (Series of images of letters written by Edward as a child at boarding school, to his mother.)
> 
> Humour, but with underlying issues of parental abandonment.

  


 

 

 

 

 

  



	6. Shadows on the Wall (G, 1927: Julia Graves, Elizabeth Long, Hanne Beck)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are many things that Elizabeth can’t fight, but she is at least excellent at tackling imaginary evils.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompts: White Chocolate #21 (whimsy) + Whipped Cream + Rainbow Sprinkles + Fresh Fruit: Peaches (“ _Today begins ten days of intuitive rapport. People tend to know what others are thinking without anything being said when Jupiter opposes Neptune. Don't play games tonight! Emotions aren't to be tampered with under the Scorpio Moon. Couples, beware of picking someone's weak spot and saying what will hurt the most._ ”) Flash fic.
> 
> 1927: Julia Graves as a child, with Edward's mother Elizabeth & her mother Hanne. Some references to Elizabeth's estrangement from Edward. Fears/nightmares.

“Julia hasn’t been unwell, too, has she?” asked Elizabeth, casting a concerned eye towards the elder of the two children currently in the room. Hanne hadn’t mentioned it, but the young girl was noticeably paler than usual. On previous occasions Elizabeth that had seen her, she’d always seemed a happy child, but today she’d only had a muted smile for Elizabeth. “Or was it only the worry over little Rudy being so unwell lately?”

Hanne looked up in surprise. “I expect so,” she said. “She’s so fond of him – she fusses over him more than I do.” She frowned for a minute as she got up from the chair. “Miss Cornwell _did_ say the other day that she was being tiresome about bedtime, but that’s not unusual, is it?”

“No,” said Elizabeth, but she thought: Oh, _Hanne_. It would, of course, at this point be deeply ironic for her to criticise however: she’d hardly even seen Edward this year – only twice, and it was already April.

“Anyway,” Hanne continued, “I must take Rudy upstairs again now, but you will stay a little longer, won’t you? It’s been much too long since we’ve seen you.”

Elizabeth nodded and didn’t explain that was because Hanne, being Hanne, no amount of discreet warnings had been enough to prevent her blithely talking about John and Edward in the presence of Elizabeth's awkward second husband, Hugh. It was, after all, Hugh who was being unreasonable, not Hanne. “Perhaps,” she said, with a smile for the girl, “in the meantime, Julia can show me round the garden?”

 

Elizabeth waited while Julia led her across to the most important part of the garden – her own little patch that Mr Keynes the gardener had let her have. Then she sat down on the low stone wall beside the rockery and patted the space beside her for Julia to join her.

“Now,” she said, “I’m going to make a guess. Do you mind?”

Julia shook her fair head, looking instantly interested.

“Well,” said Elizabeth, “is there something frightening you in the night? Something in your room, or a nasty dream, perhaps?” With Rudy’s illness, the latter would hardly be surprising, she thought – people marching up and down the stairs at all times of the day and night to disturb her, worried adults and vague explanations, and being kept away from her little brother.

Julia looked down hastily and shook her head. Then she said, slowly, “Miss Cornwell said I was being silly.”

“Is it your brother?” asked Elizabeth. “That’s not at all silly, you know, darling.”

Julia looked up again in sudden relief. “He told me what it would do and now it is – it’s trying to get in!”

Elizabeth had a moment of complete incomprehension before she realised that Julia must mean her other brother, Christy, who was six years older and exactly the sort of age to think it a great joke to tease his little sister. She was careful to bite back any hint of a smile, however, and said, “Well, then, you’d better explain it to me properly and we’ll see what we can do.”

It took a little while to get things clear – a not-yet-five-year-old narrator was not the most coherent source – but eventually she extracted the tale of how Christy had told her that ivy was evil; that it was poisonous and ate houses and smothered people, and Julia had been scared of the ivy creeping across the back of the house ever since, and last week, she said, it had started banging on the window and trying to get in. She had, it seemed, tried to explain to her governess one night, but Miss Cornwell had told her briskly that that was nonsense and ivy didn’t do that, but it hadn’t stopped Julia being scared.

“Oh, dear,” said Elizabeth and then stood, bending back down to offer Julia her hand. “Still, don’t worry. Ivy isn’t really as bad as Christy thinks, and I’m sure we can put a stop to that sort of mischief quite easily.”

Julia took her hand, and they walked back down the garden in search of Mr Keynes, whom they’d said hello to as they passed earlier. Elizabeth felt fairly confident that if he was willing to give Julia her own patch to play with in the garden that he would probably happily move trimming the ivy up his list to save her the fright, as long as it was within his power. It had most likely only been left so long with everybody being distracted over little Rudy.

 

“Oh, now,” said Mr Keynes when he heard. “Well, we can’t have that, can we? I’ll have to show that old ivy who’s boss and then you’ll have nothing more to worry over.” He looked over at Elizabeth. “I was waiting to have a word with Mr Graves about it – but I can get up there and get that bit over the nursery window this afternoon, no problem at all.”

Elizabeth thanked him and then glanced down at Julia. “And there we are. Mr Keynes will sort it all out for you. I’m sure Christy knows lots of things but he can’t possibly know as much about ivy as Mr Keynes.”

“No,” agreed Julia, and then she let Elizabeth lead her back into the house, looking at least a little more like her usual cheerful self.

 

“I saw Anne the other day,” Hanne said, as they made their farewells in the hallway. “She told me that Edward stays down there now, even in the holidays. I’m so sorry – and I’ve been talking and talking about all my worries and hardly stopped to ask –” She stopped and squeezed Elizabeth’s hand and then, evidently feeling that wasn’t enough, leant forward and hugged Elizabeth, not letting her go, even though Elizabeth merely stood there, unable to respond. Hanne kissed her cheek and then drew back. “You poor darling – how awful!”

Everybody else Elizabeth knew either avoided the topic or couldn’t help the accusation in their voice when they spoke to her, but Hanne had only sympathy. Even while Elizabeth acknowledged that with gratitude, she felt something almost like terror running through her. “Don’t,” she said, breathlessly, shaking with the effort. “Hanne, don’t, please.” 

They had reached a workable _status quo_ these days, and nothing must break that: Edward was happier with the Longs in Kent than he could ever be with her now and barely even wrote, and if that hurt her unbearably, that wasn’t important in comparison to his well-being. Things had evened out; she could help Hugh, the others could help Edward, and she couldn’t complain about what was her own doing. She accepted that and mustn’t dwell on anything else. Hanne’s instinctive sympathy and affection threatened to break through the protective shell and if that happened, Elizabeth was sure she would fall down and never get back up again. She had never been used to showing her emotions; she was frightened at the idea of what would happen if shamed herself by crying now. 

“If you ever need to, you must come to me,” said Hanne, being as stern as it was in her to be. Elizabeth gave her a brief, awkward embrace in return before pulling away. She knew Hanne meant it, but she didn’t think, even if she ever tried to leave Hugh, that Harold Graves would want to be involved in such a scandalous business. “Oh, _why_ must people be so difficult? John should never have died, you know!”

That was so very Hanne-like that it lost any sting it should have had, and Elizabeth drew herself up, managing a wry smile. “I’ve always thought it was thoroughly inconsiderate of him, too,” she agreed and watched the humour of it pass Hanne by entirely. “But then, I don’t think he meant to do it.”

She made her excuses, and promised to come again as soon as she could, but at the doorway, Hanne caught at her arm suddenly.

“And I do think that Anne should know better than to –” Hanne stopped and waved her free hand. “Because – _honestly_ –”

Elizabeth edged away, not wanting to know what her very nice sister-in-law thought of her these days, which was presumably what was getting lost in Hanne’s indignation.

“I know you think I’m silly,” said Hanne, “and I daresay I am sometimes, but I do know some things. You were so very kind to me when we first met, and you looked after Daisy and Ted for all those years, and, now, see, you haven’t even been here half an hour before you’re being far too patient with Julia when she’s been so naughty with poor Miss Cornwell all week – I don’t know how anyone could think you would ever be unkind to your own little boy.”

Elizabeth thought about pointing out that Edward was fourteen now and wouldn’t be at all pleased at that inaccurate description, but she only shook her head at Hanne. “I have to go, Hanne. I don’t think you’re silly, and I do appreciate the sentiment, but – please, it is so much better not to talk about it.”

“I think there’s far too much not talking about things,” said Hanne, “but I won’t be a nuisance, Elizabeth.” She had to stop and turn, much to Elizabeth’s relief, as Julia ran up behind her in the hallway, hugging her. “Oh, darling, what is it?”

Julia was triumphant. “It’s all better now, Mother! Mr Keynes has killed the ivy – and he’s going to burn it up on his bonfire!”

“Oh,” said Hanne blankly. “And that’s good, I take it?”

Elizabeth smiled. “Don’t worry,” she said. “It is!”


	7. Emergency Contact (1928: Edward Iveson, Daisy Long, Elizabeth Long, Hugh Taylor, Nancy Long)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward’s not well and yet again, his mother is nowhere to be found. At least there’s always Aunt Daisy…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompts: Prune 24 (if looks could kill); Cookies & Cream 29 (shake) & Brownie + Whipped Cream + Gummy Bunnies. Also for Hurt/Comfort Bingo square “lost childhood” and Origfic Bingo square “coming of age”.
> 
> February 1928; Daisy Long, Edward Iveson, Elizabeth Long, Hugh Taylor, Nancy Long. 
> 
> Notes/Warnings: Edward & his Aunt Daisy. Sickness, fever, parental abandonment, hints of some kind of domestic abuse.

The telephone call came at barely nine in the morning. Daisy answered it to find Edward’s school secretary on the line, and she shifted her hold on the receiver, immediately worried about what they might want, feeling an unpleasant jolt at the interruption to the morning’s routine. It was much too early for anything that wasn’t a serious matter. Either Edward had done something bad enough to get himself suspended, which Daisy found difficult to imagine, or something had happened to him. 

She swallowed. “Speaking. Yes?”

“We’ve been trying to get hold of Mrs Taylor, and we can’t,” said the secretary. “It’s your nephew – I’m afraid he’s not well, but if you’ll hold on, Matron Worth will have a word with you.”

Daisy a momentary and quite ridiculous moment of anxiety, recalling suddenly and vividly her own schooldays, and being sent to face Matron. She laughed to herself at the idea, especially since she’d met Matron Worth several times and thought her kind, despite the requisite brisk, no-nonsense attitude.

“Miss Long?” said the more familiar voice on the telephone. “I hope we haven’t alarmed you, but Edward’s not well and we were trying to get hold of his mother. She’s away but we can’t seem to get any reply at the address she left and we thought perhaps you could help.”

Daisy mentally scolded herself for not being at all reassured by this. Of course the school had to inform people if it was anything even remotely serious, or potentially serious. “What’s the matter with Edward?”

“It’s most likely the ‘flu,” said Matron, sounding almost apologetic. “But it’s rather a nasty strain and he’s been running a temperature. We’d rather let his mother know, you understand. It shouldn’t be too serious, but –”

“Yes,” said Daisy. It shouldn’t be serious, but even in this day and age, sometimes it was. Usually not, she reminded herself, but when she’d been at school, it had been different. “I shall do my best to find Mrs Taylor, of course. However, she is in Scotland, so she won’t be able to get back quickly even if I do – should I come down there?” 

Matron, on the other end, said, “The doctor’s going to look in on him again presently, so you needn’t worry. But if you were able – I think it might help and I wouldn’t mind a word with you.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” said Daisy, relieved that Matron hadn’t objected. She wouldn’t have got any work done on her article anyway, if she’d had to sit here and worry about Edward. She was ashamed of herself as she put the phone receiver back in its cradle. It was ridiculous to be making a fuss over a common ailment like this. But Daisy was suddenly remembering a scarlet fever epidemic going through her school one spring term, much the same sort of time as this, and two of the girls had died. She shook herself. She hadn’t thought about poor Becky in years, and it was no time to start doing so now. Modern medicine had moved on, and Influenza was rarely as bad as all that. No doubt, by the time she got to school, Edward’s dramatic temperature would have fallen, making them only look foolish for worrying.

 

Daisy sent a telegram to both of the addresses Elizabeth had given her for their Scottish tour – her husband sometimes wrote travel articles, hence the long trip. That done, she set off for Edward’s school, arriving there a little over an hour later. She announced her presence to the secretary, who roped in an unwilling second former to take Daisy over to the San, where she was met by Matron.

“Miss Long,” said Matron, holding out a hand. “I must say I’m glad you’ve come.”

Daisy felt another irrational leap of her heart in alarm, and stifled it with annoyance. There really was no point in being so nonsensical. It did nobody any good.

“Oh, no,” Matron said hastily, evidently seeing something of Daisy’s consternation. “He’s still got more of a temperature than I like, but he’s not any worse; possibly a little better, I think. But you see, he had that bout of measles at the end of last term –”

Daisy nodded. “Yes, and very bad-tempered he was, all through the Christmas holidays and the quarantine period.”

“I can imagine,” said Matron with a smile. “Nevertheless, he was still a little run down, and he seems to have been having something of a growth spurt, which hasn’t helped. And, as I said, this unfortunately seems to be a rather nasty strain of influenza, so you’ll understand my concern.”

“Yes, of course.”

Matron paused, glancing at Daisy. “I wanted you to come down here, however, because I think a good deal of the trouble isn’t physical at all. This fever – he’s been worrying about something – his mother, I think. You will probably be able to reassure him – he’ll take more notice of someone familiar.”

Daisy felt herself stiffening. She didn’t discuss private matters with anyone, nor her feelings, and most certainly she didn’t go into the business between Edward and Elizabeth. Besides, Edward barely even mentioned it any more. He was young, he’d accepted the situation – it was Elizabeth who was going to pay for it in the end. So Daisy had thought, anyway.

“I hate to pry,” Matron said, after another moment’s hesitation. “However, you do see why I’m asking, don’t you? What is the situation with Mrs Iveson? No, sorry, it’s Mrs Taylor, isn’t it?”

Daisy stared ahead, because how did one say to a well-meaning school matron that she honestly didn’t have a clue? Well, perhaps she had a clue, but nothing she could be certain enough to tell someone else, even if she ever gossiped about family members, which she didn’t. 

“It’s more a case of the situation with Mr Taylor, to be honest,” she said eventually, seeing that Matron Worth was not about to let the issue drop. “My sister remarried and he won’t have Edward around. But this is old news now. If Ned’s fretting over something, it’s more likely to be a quarrel with one of his friends or a test, perhaps.”

“It may be, yes,” said Matron, but she sounded doubtful. “Anyway, I’ll let you see him for a little while, if you’d like.”

 _At last_ , thought Daisy, and gave a short nod.

 

Daisy pushed back the curtain and slipped into Edward’s cubicle. He lifted his head slightly when she came in and she saw the brief light in his eyes die out again when he recognised her. She knew only too well that she looked a good deal like Elizabeth, at least in outline, and she couldn’t blame him for it, but it still hurt more than she would like to admit.

When Elizabeth had first had to send Edward away, it had been taken for granted that he would go to live with Ted and Anne and the two girls, not with his awkward academic spinster aunt, but at the time, the others had been on holiday and then Amy had followed that up with a bout of something contagious, and by the time quarantine was up, it had seemed unkind to move Edward on again. Daisy hadn’t known what to do with him to begin with, but it was only Ned, after all, whom she’d known all his life, and he wasn’t expected to be there for long, so she merely continued much as ever and made sure that her help, the sturdy Mrs Gibbons, fed him well, while Daisy found him books out of her library, and helped him with his homework. She let him have his own patch in the garden and discussed with him what to grow in it, and sometimes in the evenings they’d both listened to the radio together – that first summer there had been a broadcast of _Treasure Island_ that had worked well. He’d spent a lot of time over at Ted and Anne’s anyway, of course – he and Nancy were practically inseparable.

Perhaps, thought Daisy, as she sat down in the wooden chair beside the bed, none of that had been enough, after all. She never had been terribly demonstrative. Even now she wasn’t sure what one did in these sorts of crises. 

“It’s me,” she said, probably unnecessarily, but he did look rather feverish, his face flushed and eyes too bright. “Aunt Daisy.”

He turned his head and gave a slight nod, but was evidently too ill to muster a smile yet in return. “Hello,” he managed.

“Shh,” she said. “You lie still and don’t worry about anything – you need to get well. I’m here now, and it’ll all be quite all right.”

Perhaps she should ask him if it was Elizabeth who was preying on his mind, but Daisy didn’t know how to broach such a delicate subject, nor did she think it a propitious moment to try. She talked instead about Amy’s school fête and the trouble when the canvas over the cake stall had blown right over into the vicarage garden; she told him about the state of her own garden and what she would be planting in a month or so, while he sometimes listened and sometimes drifted off.

The nurse came in and took his temperature from time to time. On the second occasion, she smiled at Daisy and told her it had gone down a little again, and no doubt he’d be more himself soon.

“You hear that, eh?” she said, when the nurse left, but Edward didn’t seem to, and she felt suddenly unreassured by the nurse’s optimism. “Ned,” she added, and he opened his eyes reluctantly, slowly focusing on her, again with that hurtful moment of hope and disappointment too visible in his thin face.

Even after nearly four years, he wanted his mother; Matron was right. Daisy could only put out her hand to his arm, and then, awkwardly, moved it down to place it over his hand. She felt a stab of anger at That Man, and the whole situation. Well, she thought vindictively, if anything happened to Ned, and he’d kept Elizabeth from getting to him, Elizabeth would never forgive him for that, but it would be nothing but cold comfort. 

 

Edward found himself in that odd state where there hardly seemed to be much difference between dreaming and waking; his thoughts followed him into his dreams and twisted themselves into strange shapes, and were still gripping him when he slipped back into wakefulness.

The thing that was always constant was that, just as when he’d had the measles last term, Mother was never there. He felt awful, he was probably dying, and Mother still didn’t care. He knew that – if she hadn’t answered his peculiar letters full of tales of wolves and unlikely disasters years ago, how could she care? And then there were wolves trying to get into the San for a while, before it dawned on him that that part was probably a dream too.

Aunt Daisy was here now, and that comforted him a little. Aunt Daisy wasn’t Mother, but he knew she’d do anything she could to keep him from harm. When they’d asked him, ages ago, if he wanted to stay with her or go to Uncle Ted and Aunt Anne’s, he’d asked to stay, because even though Aunt Daisy lived in his grandparents’ rather rambling and sometimes spooky Victorian house, he knew that she’d never let Mr Taylor get in. For quite a long while back then, Edward had had bad dreams about Mr Taylor finding him. Not that he’d ever done anything to him, except for that time he had locked him out of the house, but Edward had been scared by Mr Taylor’s irrational dislike of him and the way he pretended he didn’t exist. Aunt Daisy, however, would make short work of Mr Taylor if he had ever dared to come to her house, Edward was sure of that. And she wanted him. She’d never said so, only given him books and bulbs and things and demanded to know if he was eating properly any time she thought he looked a bit too thin or under the weather, but Edward understood that language. It wasn’t so different to the way he and Mother worked. So, even though sometimes the house had seemed big and dark, and he’d been glad to go and play with Nancy, he still chose it, and Aunt Daisy.

“Ned,” said Aunt Daisy, breaking him out of another nightmare. “Your mother is in Scotland, you know. That’s why she can’t be here. We’re still trying to get hold of her.”

But there was always some reason, wasn’t there? Edward thought. And it all added up to the fact that she didn’t care, even though she pretended she did. Why didn’t she care? Why couldn’t she have chosen _him_ instead of Mr Taylor? Why had Father had to die? The questions circled round his mind, turning into a dream in which he could hear them both from somewhere in the Long house, but he couldn’t see them, and couldn’t find them and felt the despair of it: he was just never good enough to get to them.

And Mr Taylor, whom Edward had only the vaguest memories of by now, stood by and laughed like the wicked villain, the monster he had become in Edward’s mind.

“Hey,” said Aunt Daisy, leaning over him this time, a firm hand on his shoulder, and he struggled to sort out his confusion of thoughts, shivering suddenly. “Ned. Have some of this,” she said, helping him to drink the lemonade the nurse had left. It tasted a little odd, but it did help. “I told you,” she added, “I’m here. Everything will be all right.”

He nodded as he lay back down. “You’ll have to go, though,” he told her. Matron had strict rules about visitors. He was surprised Aunt Daisy had even been allowed in. “They’ll make you.”

A particular dark light came into her eye; even in his present state he recognised it well. “Oh, no, they won’t,” she said. “That Matron of yours is a reasonable woman, and I’ll stay till the end of the day at the very least.” She followed that up by bathing his face with the cloth that Nurse had left and a comment that even she could manage this much, before she draped it over his forehead.

“I didn’t mean to make a fuss,” he said, feeling at least momentarily clearer and immediately embarrassed. He was nearly fifteen, and he felt stupid at the whole business. He ought to be too old for any of this sort of thing. It was marginally better than measles, but it was still a rotten nuisance.

Aunt Daisy sat back down. “You’re not. Now, lie still and don’t be silly. I’ll tell you about my article. It’s one of the interesting ones, I promise.”

 

By the time Daisy returned in the morning, Edward’s temperature had returned to more reasonable levels. He was still ill enough to find it hard even to read, dozing off frequently, but nothing to worry anyone over.

Daisy sat with him for a while and then went away, first to send a telegram to Anne to tell her that Edward had turned the corner, and then to telephone the Taylors’ house, where she got hold of a Mrs Smith who had come in to check on the place. She could at least tell Daisy that the Taylors would be back in a week.

A week, thought Daisy. Just you wait, Hugh Taylor!

 

Edward didn’t want to leave school for a few weeks to recuperate. He’d only get behind and miss half a dozen things he’d been looking forward to, but neither Matron, Aunt Daisy or his form tutor had thought his need to be there when the fourth formers hosted an evening for the rest of the school overrode the issue of his current state of health.

He was feeling better enough to be frustrated by it all, although still ill enough to be made far more dismal at the prospect than he would otherwise have been. He sighed heavily, and continued to pack his things with a bad grace, stopping every so often to cough.

He didn’t want to go home, when there wasn’t even any Nancy around, and sit around in the big house, being bored to death and probably fussed over. Mostly, of course, if he went back home, it would only remind him all over again how little Mother cared. He shouldn’t still mind by now; it wasn’t a new thing. It was just that every time he saw her, it was all right again, but then even if he wrote, which he was getting less and less willing to do, she hardly ever replied. Sometimes she sent short letters that didn’t seem to have taken any notice of anything he’d said.

He shoved the thought aside and concentrated on hunting out a book that had fallen under the bed, and caused himself to feel wobbly and breathless at the effort, something which underlined the point all the adults had been making. He scowled and kicked his trunk.

“It’s not forever,” said Matron, coming in to see how he was getting along. She examined the contents of the trunk, and tutted, pulling out the shirts and folding them properly. “Only until half term, and then you’ll be back.”

Edward could only nod. He was feeling far too washed out again to argue. Getting out of bed properly for the first time, and complaining about what they were making him do seemed to have taken everything out of him, worse luck.

“I can’t have you in and out of the San like a bad penny,” she said. “Better to go home now, rest properly, and you won’t be likely to be ill again later and miss the cricket.”

“Yes, Matron,” he said, and coughed again.

She gave him a sharp look. “Hmm, well, I’ll give your cubicle a look-over,” she said. “You lie down until your aunt comes for you – and that, Iveson, is an order.”

 

Daisy made sure she called on Elizabeth and Hugh Taylor the moment they returned. She arrived early and sat in her car, watching and waiting, grimly upright in the car seat. She was going to tell Elizabeth what was going on, straight away, before That Man had any chance to whitewash over it.

They didn’t see her there when they pulled into the driveway, and Daisy hesitated for a moment after all, seeing Elizabeth standing outside the house, looking unexpectedly frail herself, but what else could she do now? Daisy got out of the car and marched across the road, catching them even as they were going in the front door.

“Daisy!” said Elizabeth, reacting first as they both stared at her in surprise. “Whatever is it – Edward?”

Daisy raised her chin, determined not to understate the matter for once. “Yes, it is. I hope very much that your tour was worth it – and perhaps you’ll care to explain why Edward’s school couldn’t reach you, though they tried all week!”

“Daisy!” said Elizabeth again.

“Oh, it doesn’t matter now,” she said. “It’s much too late –”

She only realised that had probably not been the best way to phrase it when Elizabeth interrupted her by abruptly turning white, all but fainting before Hugh caught her.

 

“I’m sorry,” said Daisy, once Elizabeth had been helped into an armchair the living room, and Hugh, after a dubious look at Daisy, had gone out to see about getting a cup of tea for Elizabeth. “I wanted to make my point, but I had no intention of being so melodramatic.”

Elizabeth shook her head. “I was tired after the journey; that doesn’t matter. Edward is all right now, isn’t he?”

“Oh, yes, of course – he’s at home with me, being listless and complaining,” Daisy told her. “But in another way he isn’t, and neither are you, I think. The school had the addresses of both hotels – they sent several telegrams to both and telephoned. Of course, Edward was fine – it was only the influenza, but there was a while before I got there where he’d given the school a nasty turn, I think. And he wanted you – where were you?”

She stiffened a little: Daisy was, after all, her younger sister. “For heaven’s sake, I was in Scotland, Daisy! I could hardly have returned in an instant even if we had received the message. We did go to one or two small places, so I suppose –”

“Can you let yourself believe that?” said Daisy. “How many other messages have never reached you, I wonder? How many letters?”

Elizabeth shook her head. “Don’t be absurd. He’d hardly have the chance. Jennings usually picks up the mail, anyway. I’ll certainly have to ask him about this, but it’s not your business.”

“Oh, isn’t it?” said Daisy. “In the normal way of things, I would agree, but when I’m the one getting summoned to that school to see Matron and explain to her about this whole mess, it is! I had to sit there and be told that this state of affairs isn’t doing Edward any good – he misses you still. Which of course he does. Elizabeth, you have to do something about it.”

Mr Taylor returned, and said that Mrs Smith would see to the tea, and then wanted to know if Daisy had been upsetting Elizabeth. “She hasn’t been all that well herself, you know.”

“I won’t have the two of you talking over my head,” said Elizabeth. “And while I don’t seem to have been quite right lately, it’s not anything that will stop me going with you to see Edward. I take it that was what you meant?”

Mr Taylor frowned. “Not now, surely – tomorrow –”

“Daisy’s here now, and I gather I’m already far later than I should be,” Elizabeth said. “We’ll have a conversation about those missed messages when I return.”

Daisy had wandered over to the fire, and she looked up. “You can stay with us, you know,” she said. “For the night, I mean – then it shouldn’t be so tiring for you, and you’ll have more time to try and right this tangle.”

“I really do think she needs to rest first,” said Hugh Taylor.

Daisy, almost unconsciously, tightened her hand around the nearby poker and thought, with a seriousness that startled her, of how easy it might be to kill him with it. Of course, it would be awful, and she wasn’t quite sure she could do it if it required several blows, as it no doubt might, and she would have to go to prison, but she would have simultaneously saved both Elizabeth and Edward, who were probably dearer to her than anyone else in the world. She was a little alarmed by the fact that she thought it might well be worth the sacrifice. 

“No, not this time,” Elizabeth said, and stood up. “But, Daisy, allow me a half an hour at least to get myself together.”

 

Edward heard them come in, Mother and Aunt Daisy, but he kept on reading his book, wrapped up on the sofa.

“Ned,” said Mother, some minutes later. “How are you now?”

He kept his hold on the book, refusing to look up or respond.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Ned. I was in Scotland. I could hardly have made it back to see you even if the message _had_ reached me – and I’m here now.”

Edward swallowed and closed up the book, and made himself face her. “Yes, but you weren’t there last term – or Christmas.”

“I was ill, too, at the end of last year,” she said, moving nearer. “I am sorry about all of it, and I’ll make sure this doesn’t happen again, that I will promise.”

“But then next time it’s half-term, or holidays, or prize-giving, or anything, you won’t be there,” he said. He was, he found to his surprise when he stood, almost as tall as she was now. “And I hate wondering if you will come or not – it’s not fair.”

Mother didn’t say anything for a moment; she merely looked at him, before eventually, she asked, “Would you rather I _didn’t_ come, and then you would know where you stood?”

Edward hesitated; he felt angry enough to say yes, but the understanding between him and Mother had not yet entirely vanished and he knew that she was serious. If he said that, she would go away until and unless he asked for her to come back and, he wasn’t quite ready to give up what little he had of her. But one day, it would happen, he thought with sudden, painful clarity. You couldn’t go on and on like this. You just couldn’t.

“No,” he said, but he didn’t move any nearer.

She concealed her feelings as carefully as ever and gave a short nod. “Thank you. And it’s as well, since your Aunt has asked me to stay the night, and I’m going to. Maybe you can think about whether there’s anything you’d like to do while I’m here.”

Edward nodded.

“Ned,” she said, suddenly, moving closer and putting a hand to his shoulder, “you’re shaking, darling.”

He forced a smile. “I do seem to be a bit wobbly still. The ‘flu, you know.”

“Yes,” said Mother, giving his arm a light squeeze, “I know.”

 

“Stay,” said Daisy, the next morning. “Don’t go back. Hugh must have seen at least one of those telegrams – and let’s face it, this whole business with his behaviour to Edward is beyond the pale!”

Elizabeth turned her head. “We’ve already had words about that, and there will be more. But I can’t leave him.”

“You could,” said Daisy. “You won’t. And Ned has had enough of this, you know. And who can blame him?”

Elizabeth picked up her bag. “Oh, Daisy, I only wish it were that simple. The whole thing is my fault, not Hugh’s – and I can’t run away from it now because I was foolish enough to think it would work out differently. And there it is: I can’t leave Hugh, and I can’t have him and Edward together.”

Daisy merely looked at her.

“Edward has all of you,” said Elizabeth.

Daisy sighed, and accompanied Elizabeth out through the hallway to the front door. “Doesn’t Hugh have a sister? Not to mention that manservant of his.”

“Pat lives away,” Elizabeth said. “It’s not the same. I know you think it’s archaic nonsense, but I won’t break my marriage vows, not lightly at least.”

“Lightly!” said Daisy. “Lizzy, don’t go. Stay. I wouldn’t ask you to do it lightly, either, but the situation is making you ill, the Matron at Edward’s school is convinced it’s making _him_ ill, and at this rate, I’ll probably get an ulcer if this goes on much longer! Stay with us. If Hugh comes after you, I’ll send him packing. This isn’t the dark ages.”

Elizabeth gave a brief smile, and then leaned forward to briefly take Daisy’s hand and kiss her on the cheek. “Don’t, Daisy, or I shall cry, and where will we be? Just drive me to the station and let’s say no more about it. I do appreciate what you’ve done – it’s more than I have any right to ask of anyone. Now, please – I must go, and there’s nothing to be gained in making it more painful than it already is.”

 

When Daisy came back in, Edward hurried down the stairs to meet her. He had, she noted, been crying, although she was tactful enough not to mention it.

“Come on,” she said. “To the kitchen. Tea and shortbread.”

Edward gave a reluctant smile. “All right. But I think we finished the shortbread yesterday.”

“I’m fairly sure there’s another lot in my study,” said Aunt Daisy, and after a brief detour to rummage around under her papers, pulling out half a tin of shortbread in triumph, led them into the kitchen and put the kettle on the stove.

Edward opened the tin of biscuits. “How can there always be another one?”

“Magic,” said Aunt Daisy, but once the tea had been made, she sat opposite him at the bare, wooden kitchen table, and said, “Let’s not pretend. I miss her too. She’s my sister, and we were every bit as close as you and Nancy once upon a time.”

He nodded.

“But,” Daisy said, “she can’t stay with us, and I suppose, knowing Elizabeth as I do, I shall have to accept her word on that – and that she still cares, especially about you.”

Edward pulled a face.

“I know,” said Daisy. “It’s a tiresome tangle, I agree, but here we are, so we’ll have to make the best of it, won’t we? Now, have another shortbread – I need to feed you up and get you back to that school of yours!”

“Thanks,” said Edward, and bit into it. “How old is it? It’s gone soft.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Aunt Daisy. “People give me them, and then I put them away and find them again months later. It always seems to be more or less all right.”

Edward grinned.

“And,” said Aunt Daisy, moving across to sort through some newspapers on the end of the worktop, pulling out the _Radio Times_. “Here. Take this and while I get some work done, you find something nice for us to listen to this evening, eh?”

Edward nodded and took it from her. “Thank you.” He slipped off the chair again and then hung back, screwing up his face a little. “I mean – thank you for everything.”

“Oh, everything,” said Daisy, as she hastily brushed the crumbs off the table before Mrs Gibbons came back and scolded her. “Pfft. No need. It’s my privilege. Now, go back to your sofa with your book – I need to get some things done, and you need to be lying up like the doctor ordered.”

Edward grinned, and gave her a mock-salute. He hovered awkwardly in the doorway before he left, however, and said, “I did mean it, though, Aunt Daisy. Honestly.”

He was gone before she could respond, which was as well, Daisy thought, because she never _did_ know what to say when it came to the things that mattered the most.


	8. Out of Your Tree (1928: Edward Iveson & Christy Graves)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward gets his first run-in with a troublesome member of the Graves family. It's not Julia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompts: Flavour of the Day 19/10/16 ( _harum-scarum_ ) Flash fic.
> 
> September 1928; Edward Iveson, Christy Graves. More of the family connections between the Iveson/Long & Graves families.

Edward was currently suffering several assaults on his fifteen year old dignity and uncertain as yet whether to stand on it or not. Firstly, Hanne – Mrs Graves – had kindly presented him with a toffee apple because, she said, she’d forgotten how old he was, and then he’d been sent out to play with Christy Graves, who was only twelve, and was now urging him to join him up the large tree at the bottom of the garden. Christy had already shinned up, showing off how easy he found it.

Edward gave up worrying then, since the toffee apple was still an unexpected treat and a good climbing tree was always a good climbing tree. He wrapped up the head of the toffee apple in his clean hanky and stuffed it in his pocket before climbing up to join Christy on a stout lower branch. Having done that, he retrieved the apple and set to work on it.

Christy watched him with undisguised envy, something that made Edward feel simultaneously better about the whole thing and rather guilty.

“Mother wouldn’t let me have one,” Christy said eventually, bouncing about so as to make the bough move.

Edward’s short acquaintance with Christy had already led him to feel sure that if that if that was the case, Hanne had good reason. Still, he held it out to him, feeling he could hardly do anything else. “Want a bite?”

Christy shook his head. “Better not.”

“What did you do?”

“Nothing,” Christy said in injured tones, before he broke into a grin. “Well, nothing _much_. It’s just, if you saw a plate of jam tarts set out, you’d think a chap was allowed to eat one, wouldn’t you? It wasn’t my fault if they were meant to be for the aunts. Somebody should have said!”

“I see,” said Edward, hiding a smile. 

He concentrated on the apple, the toffee being hard to bite through, while Christy, getting rapidly bored, climbed upwards and suddenly announced his intention to show Edward that he could get right to the top of the tree. Edward watched him clamber on until he realised that the little idiot really meant to try. He dropped the remains of the apple and stick onto the grass below as he stood, pulling himself up by means of the branch above him. 

“Hey, come back down!” Edward called up, tightening his hold on the tree in alarm. “It isn’t safe. Christy!”

“Pfft, _safe_ ,” said Christy, crawling further along his current branch, somewhere above Edward’s head already. He made it sway again and then abruptly fell off with a yell, left hanging onto the branch. “Um, help?” The branch bent further. “Ned!”

Edward tried to find the best way upward. “Yes, yes – hang on!”

“I _am_ ,” said Christy and then looked down again, kicking his legs about wildly. “If I end up in Mrs Allen’s garden, she’ll kill me!”

That wasn’t the greatest danger, Edward thought, pulling level with the younger boy. He reached out, but Christy was too far along for him to grab and pull him back. He took a deep breath and hauled himself up further, trying to edge out along the same branch, but then Christy finally lost his grip on it with a shriek.

Edward closed his eyes and then made himself open them again, searching for Christy, only to see him picking himself up out of the next-door neighbour’s shrubbery and grinning back up at him, apparently indestructible. He let himself breathe out again in relief.

“Hey! Quick, get the rope before the old dragon finds me. She’ll eat me!”

Edward looked about in confusion. “What rope?”

“The swing,” said Christy, waving his arms about. “Come on! The wall’s too high from here and she always keeps that gate locked.”

Edward glanced down but he could only see evidence of where a swing had been; a knotted loop of rope with a frayed or cut end still tied around one of the lower branches. 

“It might not be there,” Christy added suddenly. “Mr Keynes did say he might get rid of it after I squashed the runner beans when I came off it that time.” He kicked at Mrs Allen’s rockery in his annoyance. “Oh, _rats_.”

Edward realised it was no time for saying that it served Christy right, even if it did, and instead hastily promised to see if he could find the rope, climbing down the tree and jumping back onto the grass of the lawn. His searches didn’t produce anything remotely like a rope, however, and he hauled himself back up the tree to tell Christy that he’d have to think of something else, only to find that Christy seemed to have vanished. Edward leaned over to see better into the other garden, but though he still couldn’t spy Christy, he heard the boy yelling out, so he climbed further along and let himself drop down after him into the other garden, landing unsteadily upright, but falling back afterwards onto the earth amid a patch of marigolds.

He propped himself up by his elbows, belatedly realising as he did so that Christy really wasn’t anywhere around and that an imposing woman in long black skirts was looming over him with a glowering expression. Clearly it must be the ferocious Mrs Allen herself.

“Er, hello?” he tried nervously, and then closed his eyes, waiting for the sky to fall.

 

When Edward finally emerged from Mrs Allen’s house, he found Christy hanging about by the wall, waiting for him. He seemed to have acquired a bandage on his leg and a slight limp, but was otherwise not much perturbed.

“She didn’t eat you then,” Christy said, almost admiringly. “What _did_ you say to her?”

Edward shrugged. “I apologised and then we both agreed that you were a horrible little boy, and she let me go. What happened to you?”

“Oh, I realised I could get out if climbed over the wall on the _other_ side, and Mrs Wendover’s all right – she had twin boys and she says they got up to all sorts. I forgot she’s got all those roses, though or I’d have tried to come down somewhere different. And then she had to fuss and give me a bandage, but she gave me these humbugs as well. Look, I here’s one for you.”

Edward took the humbug, since it seemed like fair payment. He was bound to be in trouble for this when they got back and he wouldn’t get far by trying to blame a twelve year old for why they’d run off and made such a mess of their clothes. Even his mild-mannered Aunt Anne would be annoyed by that sort of behaviour. “Come on – we need to get back before they miss us. They’ll worry if we’ve suddenly vanished.”

“Hey,” said Christy, his face lighting up, “we should let them – imagine, they’ll think we’ve been kidnapped or murdered. What a joke!”

Edward grabbed him by the collar in case he felt tempted to run away and pulled him back towards his own door. “Don’t be an idiot. Nobody would _want_ to kidnap you, anyway, and if you don’t come back with me now, _I’ll_ murder you!”

Christy popped his humbug into his mouth and thought about that while they crept up the garden path, hoping to sneak round by the back gate if it wasn’t locked. “How?” he asked with lurid interest. “Would you cut off my head?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” said Edward as loftily as he could, “but it’ll be very unpleasant, that’s all I can say.”


	9. Spilt Milk (G, 1931: Diana Foyle)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A young Diana facing a losing battle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1931; Diana Foyle, Mrs Weston.
> 
> Prompts: Flavour of the Day 12/05/16 (obviate), White Chocolate #28 (misery)
> 
> Notes/Warnings: refs to a broken relationship and period-typical racism.

“There’s no need for you to say anything else,” said Diana, pulling open her bedroom door to admit her mother. “It’s all over. I saw Kiran and he – _we_ – agreed.” She gave a small, strained smile. She might have held on a while longer if it hadn’t been so clear that his family’s arguments were weighing on his mind every bit as much as Diana’s parents’ were with her. Kiran’s that little bit more, obviously.

Mother, to give her credit, tried to look more sympathetic than relieved and perhaps even managed it, but it didn’t help allay Diana’s sense of shame and misery. “My poor darling.”

“And since you can’t say I haven’t done my duty for the day, I’d rather not go to the Althorpes’ party.”

Mother patted her arm. “Sweetheart, it will be much better than locking yourself in here and sobbing, I promise. Besides – better not to give anyone cause to think – well, if anyone _should_ hear anything of the affair –”

Diana understood. _Don’t let them think you’ve been jilted, and worse, by someone like Kiran. A foreigner – an Indian. Don’t even let them think any rumours of such an affair are true._ She hated the world for being so wrong – and so immovable in its vile ways. That wasn’t Mother’s fault, however. Diana lifted her head. “Then I’ll come to the party.”

“Good girl,” said Mother, and kissed her. She still looked concerned, too much so to allow Diana the easy luxury of hating her. “You know that we’ve only been thinking of you.”

Maybe, Diana thought grudgingly, making herself hold back from sinking into the waiting sandpit of despair, at least until after this evening’s party. Everyone else had been thinking of everyone else the whole time, that was the trouble. She wished they hadn’t, or at least, that she and Kiran hadn’t. The two of them should have been a bit more selfish and then they might have won.

“Yes,” Mother said, “it’s over, and the party will cheer you up, my dear. You’ll see. You’re young; you’ll mend soon enough.”

It didn’t feel that simple to Diana.


	10. Wedding Jitters (G, 1935: Diana Foyle, Edward Iveson, Caroline Aldridge, Stephen Foyle)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diana has her work cut out as Matron of Honour to Caroline…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1935; Diana Foyle, Edward Iveson, Caroline Aldridge, Stephen Foyle.
> 
> Prompts: Flavour of the Day 13/06/16 ( _paranymph_ ); Cookies and Cream #25 (cover). Flash fic.
> 
> (The whole Edward & Caroline fiasco is covered a lot in later-set stories that were originally posted long before this one.)

Diana had hurried over from the Aldridge’s house to the tiny village church in inconvenient shoes and a long, green silk bridesmaid’s dress, and she found she was still breathless by the time the best man had fetched the groom out. Mind, she was doing better than he was; he was positively white.

“I’m afraid there’s going to be a bit of a delay,” said Diana, as quickly as she could to put him out of his misery, since he must be fearing the worst by now. “I think it’s going to take another half an hour before the bride arrives. Sorry, Edward.”

“Oh, thank God,” he said, and then shot the vicar a sheepish look. “I mean – I’m sorry –”

The vicar, Reverend Tadworth, remained unperturbed. “Don’t worry; I think we all know what you mean. And, Mrs Foyle, while the guests may be impatient, at least there’s no problem from my point of view. I’m lucky enough to be a guest and the last wedding in this place was fourteen years ago, so I doubt another one is going to be along in less than an hour.”

“What’s wrong?” Edward said, taking one step aside with Diana, while the vicar hurried back inside to make the announcement to the guests. His initial moment of relief had passed and now he was understandably not yet reassured.

Diana gave him a bright smile and an easy lie. “Oh, I’m afraid we had a bit of an accident with the dress. It can be fixed, but it will take at least twenty minutes or so.”

“Are you sure that’s all?” he asked, watching her closely.

She raised an eyebrow, looking back up at him. “Why, is there a reason it should be anything else?” She had left Caroline back at home, still sobbing slightly although the initial storm had passed, with a young cousin fluttering round her and her father pacing the hallway in resigned impatience. Diana had asked Caroline much the same question several times – if it was Edward, if she didn’t want to go through with the wedding for any reason – but all she had received in return were emphatic shakes of her head at the idea and an incoherent insistence that she _did_ , very much. Still, Diana couldn’t help wondering, because this was exceptional, even for Caroline. 

“No,” said Edward, breathing out again. “She was rather quiet yesterday – but I thought that was understandable.”

Diana laughed. “Well, then, stop worrying. Unless you’re having second thoughts – in which case, tell me now, because I don’t want to spend what’s left of this morning running between the house and the church in this frock.”

“Of course not.”

Diana hastened back along the path through the trees to the house to find Caroline calmer, although still not quite ready to make an appearance until she’d been tidied up again. “Feeling better, darling?” she asked. “And everything’s fine at the church. They know you’re going to be another half an hour, so there’s no need to panic.”

“Oh, dear,” said Caroline, sniffing. “I _am_ terribly sorry, you know. It wasn’t – it wasn’t anything more than nerves, I promise.”

Diana passed her another hanky. “It had better not be. If you want to escape this wedding, you need to say now. I know waiting for the moment in church is traditionally more dramatic, but it’s far more convenient just to say beforehand.”

“Oh, don’t,” said Caroline. “You’ll make me laugh, and if you do, I shall cry again, and then where will we be?”

 

Later in the parish hall, with the deed done and the celebrations fully underway, Diana found a quiet corner to hover by the refreshments, mostly in an attempt to avoid Stephen, who had already made clear his willingness to engage in another round of whispered insults – not her preferred entertainment for the evening. On being informed that green wasn’t her colour, she’d decided to circulate before he really got going. 

“Mrs Foyle,” said Edward Iveson, suddenly at her elbow. “Diana, I should say. The thing is – I was rather wondering –”

Diana heaved a sigh and turned around. “Oh, dear, please don’t tell me Caroline is crying _again_.”

“I think she may be,” Edward said, his tone apologetic. He gestured to the left. “In the bathroom, and I wondered if you would –”

Diana nodded and put a hand to his arm. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I shall go and find her. I expect it’s all this, you know. She never did like fuss or being the centre of attention – or changes, for that matter. I shall go and fetch her out, and you can take her away.”

“It’s a little – I don’t know,” said Edward before she could move away. He shrugged. “Discouraging.”

Diana squeezed his arm before releasing him. “It doesn’t seem to be you. She was a little upset earlier, too” – Diana’s mouth quivered slightly at the understatement “– and I asked, and she was emphatic that it wasn’t. Believe me, if she’d given me any reason to believe otherwise, I would have made sure the wedding didn’t happen.” She couldn’t help glancing over towards Stephen.

“Thank you,” he said, but to her surprise he followed her gaze and gave her a brief, sympathetic quirk of his mouth, and she had to look away, realising that in the few days since they’d met, he’d obviously had enough time to form an unfavourable opinion of her husband.

“I’ll go and find Caroline for you.” She walked away, in search of her friend. What she had said had been true, but if Caroline was so distressed still, then she must at least feel she was losing or giving up something with this marriage. But then, Diana reminded herself, Caroline always had tended to tears on going away from home and leaving for good no doubt justified today’s opening of the flood-gates. With that more optimistic thought, she went to rescue her friend from the bathroom.


	11. Walk in the Park (G, 1935: Edward Iveson, Nancy Long)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward has something to confess to his family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> August 1935; Edward Iveson, Nancy Long.
> 
> prompts: Prune #9 (sorry you are not a winner)
> 
> Notes/warning: references to marital breakdown.

Edward sat on the top of the low slope, staring out at Greenwich Park, which was much too busy to suit his mood on this late summer’s day. There was something calming, however, about the Georgian evenness of the Royal Naval College buildings at the far side of the grass, and the knowledge that beyond them was the river, leading away to sea and the promise of escape. 

He had finally forced himself to send Nancy a telegram, asking her to meet him here. He couldn’t go on pretending nothing was wrong. After all, given the way that village gossip worked, the rest of his family had heard probably rumours of trouble the moment Caroline had arrived back at her parents’ house alone. Edward sighed again at the thought.

“Here,” said a voice suddenly, and he looked up as Nancy sat down beside him on the grass and held out an ice cream cone. “I bought you this.”

Edward stared back at her, all the careful explanations in his head deserting him at the unexpected gesture.

“It looked as if you were sitting there moping,” she said. “So I went back to the van and got you this.”

Edward took it, giving a short grin. “Thank you. I think.”

“So, what’s wrong, then?” Nancy said, settling herself down more comfortably next to him and licking her own ice cream – strawberry, by the look of it. “Caroline?”

“So you’ve heard. I thought it wouldn’t take long.”

“Only whispers,” said Nancy. “Mother wrote me a letter wanting to know if I knew anything. Of course, I didn’t, but I thought it might explain why it’d been a while since I’d heard a shout out of you.”

Edward had to pause to start in on the vanilla ice cream, which was beginning to melt. “She left me,” he said, eventually, and then thought how silly it sounded in the middle of eating an ice cream and sitting out in the sunny park. “But it was bad for nearly two months before that.” In between eating the rest of the ice cream, he went on to tell Nancy about Caroline running into Jack Sheldon; how she’d shut herself away from him and he hadn’t been able to do or say anything that could get through to her. “And now,” he finished, “that’s it, isn’t it? It’s all over and everything’s ruined.”

“Well, your suit will be if you’re not careful with that ice cream.” 

“I don’t know why I sent that telegram.”

“I’m not unsympathetic, not really,” said Nancy. “It sounds pretty beastly all round. But sitting there feeling sorry for yourself isn’t going to help.”

“I knew I could rely on you.”

“It’s been three weeks since Caroline went back to Kent,” Nancy said, after polishing off the last of her cone. “I should think you’ve done enough moping since then – and probably before, too. What are you going to _do_? Go after her and persuade her to come back?”

Edward turned towards her, finding himself almost shocked by the suggestion. “I couldn’t. Not after the last few weeks.”

“After a little time away –”

“No,” said Edward, and caught her raising her eyebrows at him. “I mean, you weren’t there. I didn’t know what was wrong. I even called in the doctor.” He waved his hand, not having the words to describe just how hopeless it had been. He thought again, knowing he must find something or Nancy and the rest of the family would think him unreasonable. “You can do something when it’s an argument. I don’t know what you do when your wife suddenly realises she married the wrong man and won’t stop crying and apologising.”

Nancy raised her eyebrows even further. “Goodness,” she said. “But you’ll have to talk to her sometime, particularly if you want a divorce.”

Edward grimaced at the word. It would be the only option if they couldn’t work things out, but he hated the idea.

“It happens,” said Nancy, correctly interpreting his expression. “And she left you, so you’d be the injured party at least.”

Edward wasn’t sure that helped, or if it would even be true when it came to Caroline. She hadn’t run off with Jack, she’d just broken down and gone home to her mother. “Anyway,” he said, “you have to wait three years if there's not some special reason to let them give it to you sooner.”

“Hmm,” said Nancy and gave him a considering look. “This is going to take more than one ice cream, isn’t it? I should have bought you a 99!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone was wondering, [a 99](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/99_Flake).


	12. Love, Lies, & Self-Fulfilling Prophecies (M, 1938: Edward Iveson/Marie Werner)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The irony was, of course, that he’d confessed to the crime before he’d committed it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1938, Edward Iveson/Marie Werner.
> 
> Prompts: Passionfruit #29 (My life closed twice before its close), Coffee #9 (journal), Chocolate #5 (mercy)  
> \+ Malt – Prompt from the Hat (Edward: take this small confession as my price to pay)
> 
> Warnings for refs to divorce & infidelity, and some 1930s attitudes to the same; passing ref. to suicide.

It wasn’t even raining, not properly. It was one of those solidly grey days that hung there and weighed heavily on the world. Damp and drizzle clung to everyone outside, and, inside, the window panes misted over at the edges. Edward Iveson moved away from the window, thinking that when London tried, it might well be the greyest place in the world: endless cloud, endless paved streets, the fog, the men in grey suits, as if the colour had been washed away by the rain.

Then he laughed to himself, wondering if that was his excuse now. He crossed over to the fire, and crouched down to check that the letter he’d written had burned away. It had, or at least sufficiently to render his words irretrievable, so he sat back down at his desk, and thought about how to find another way of putting things.

He moved aside the blank sheets of official notepaper, finding underneath the journal of economics he was supposed to be reading. There was, apparently, a relevant passage in this particular article. Edward picked up a pen, and tapped it on the desk, before giving a slight smile, putting the pen down, and carefully tearing two pages out of the journal.

The irony was, of course, that he’d confessed to the crime quite a while before he’d committed it. Did it work like that, he wondered – you lied, and then the lie became the truth? Not, of course, that it was technically a crime, but that was hard to believe when it still had to be brought before the courts. A sin then, with a confession made for him in public by someone else.

He smiled to himself, smoothed out the first sheet of paper, and began, to the best of his ability, to fold a paper aeroplane.

 

It was a funny thing, but the Foreign Office had never seemed to profess any interest in his separation from Caroline (although no doubt there was a file somewhere to testify that it had not gone unremarked), yet as soon as their divorce was finally in progress, it was another matter. He was still fairly new, still pretty young, so the step down wouldn’t have been all that striking to anyone else, but he could hardly miss it. Suddenly, he was relegated to odd and seemingly pointless paperwork, and other tasks without much responsibility, with only a low level of clearance required.

He supposed it was only until the fuss died down, a precaution in case of scandal in the press, or maybe because he’d taken the blame. People knew, though, that half these things were mere formalities; what you did to obtain the divorce, the same way they’d had to wait three years to resolve what had been decided in less than three months.

In any case, that was why he was escorting Richard Werner and his wife about between various meetings. Werner was an American businessman who was in the process of finalising a lucrative deal with a British construction firm, and the government didn’t want it to fall through, or for him to be waylaid by the representative of some other country’s firm. Edward was only there as the obvious foil whose shaking off would be a signal to alert the real players, and probably even that wasn’t expected this time. Certainly, nothing untoward had happened in the previous three days.

Last night, however, Werner had excused himself after an early dinner, just as the coffee was being served. He claimed a headache and apologised to Edward for putting him to any wasted trouble, but said he was damned if he was going to sit through a musical with a migraine.

After he’d gone, Edward waited a few moments before making his own excuses to Mrs Werner to go and use the phone. The man on the other end sounded supremely uninterested in his news, and Edward crossed back to the table to reclaim the rest of his coffee to find that Marie Werner was still there.

“Not more trouble, I hope?” she said.

Edward gave her a blank look, trying to think what she meant.

“You told me,” she said. “Yesterday when you were looking so blue. You’d got your papers through all right, so I hope –”

He coloured. “Oh, yes, yes, of course. No, it wasn’t. Just work, that’s all.”

“And how are you holding up?” she asked, putting her cup down. He avoided looking at her, following the movement instead, her varnished nails a pearlescent pink against the white china. “You can say. I don’t know anybody here to tell, do I?”

Edward nodded, embarrassed. She’d come in search of her husband, while he was waiting outside in an office, and she’d caught him looking at the papers. He’d wondered what she might say, whether they’d ask to be sent someone else, but of course, that was just his oversensitivity on the subject. She’d not said much, only that she’d been there, too. Richard, she’d said, was her second husband and what little she’d said about her first had sounded as if he had nothing to complain about in comparison.

“Good,” Marie said. “Now, let me tell you that I’d still like very much to see that show. How about you, Mr Iveson?”

It would have been prudent to back out then, but he couldn’t be rude enough to refuse point blank, leaving her to spend a dull evening alone at the hotel. So Edward agreed and, when she stood, helped her on with her coat.

“Thank you,” she said, with a smile, and crooked her arm for him to take it.

“I’m not entirely sure –” he said at the door, feeling he ought to offer some sort of protest, however half-hearted.

She looked up at him warily out of dark eyes. “You’re not going all stuffy on me now, are you, Mr Iveson? Is there any reason why we should have our evening spoiled? I’d made up my mind you deserved something nice, too.”

“I was only wondering,” he said, “if Mr Werner –”

She patted his arm. “Richard’s a reasonable creature. He wouldn’t expect me to sit in my room with a book, only because he’s feeling under the weather. Trust me. Now, come on, hail us a cab, or we’ll be late and they’ll look down their noses at us and refuse to let us in.”

 

In the interval, she bought them both a drink, and tried, in the theatre lobby to ask him more questions, but it was too crowded and noisy, and he merely shook his head.

“It’s no good here, is it?” she said, putting her hand to his arm; he felt her fingers tighten around his sleeve, and she brushed her cheek against his shoulder as she leant in so that he could hear her more easily. “Now, much as I hate to bail on a nice little show, I’d like to go somewhere else – we can’t talk here.”

At this point, of course, he should have either insisted that they couldn’t possibly miss the second half, or once they’d got outside, merely found a cab to take her back to the hotel and taken his leave of her, but he didn’t. Blame the alcohol, blame the weather, blame anything you like, but he was suddenly unspeakably tired of being so very careful about everything for the last three years, and he didn’t.

 

When the cab stopped outside, not a bar or club as Edward had vaguely expected, but a smart, modern block of flats, he turned to look at her.

“Don’t worry,” she said, leaning over to pat his arm. “It’s a friend’s – they won’t be there. Now we can have a sensible conversation all right.”

Edward tried to find what he wanted to say, and only came up with, “Why?”

“Fellow feeling,” she said, and then drew back, watching him. “Why not?”

Edward got out and crossed over to open the door for her, and when she emerged, he said, “I’m not sure it would be proper.”

“Is everything you do proper?” she asked in amusement. “Well, it’s up to you, Edward. You can pay this nice man and let him go, or you can get back in and make your escape. Just whichever it’s going to be, I suggest you make your mind up quickly, because it’s chilly out here, and I bet the man has places to be even if we don’t.”

Edward laughed, and then paid the cab driver, who departed. It certainly wasn’t proper, he was pretty sure of that, but he owned to a compulsion to see if this was really leading where it seemed to be, because this sort of thing didn’t actually happen, not as far as he was concerned, anyway. He followed her inside.

 

“So, talk,” Marie said, passing him a brandy. “I know nothing about anyone involved; you can paint your former wife as the worst woman in the world if you like, and I’ll have no reason not to believe you.”

Edward coloured. “She’s not – that would be –”

“Oh, is that it, honey?” she asked in sudden sympathy, as she sat down opposite him. “You were hoping it would never happen?”

He shook his head. “No. Oh, God, no. It’s just – nothing, really. Nothing like you went through from the sounds of it.”

“Oh, mine was ten times worse, and don’t you forget it.” She leant back in the soft chair. “Just as well there aren’t too many people like John in the world. We can’t all try to blow people’s brains out every time life gets hard.”

Edward raised his eyebrows in shock. “Did he –?”

“Oh, only himself in the end, thank God, but he made enough threats,” she said. “Me and a hell of a lot of other people. Still, I’ve decided it’s your turn tonight. You get it all off your chest, whatever it is.”

He gave a short laugh that was almost a groan and leant forward. “It’s only – I feel such a fool. I mean, I know what happened – I know Caroline didn’t intend – but it still feels as if I’ve been so stupid – taken for a ride, and I –”

“You took the fall,” she said for him. At his look, she added, “I took the trouble of finding this week’s papers. They had them in the hotel. There was a brief paragraph.”

Edward put his head in his hands. “Well, somebody had to,” he said. “It wasn’t much better, either way, and Caroline always said she was at her mother’s – well, I don’t care.”

“You lied,” said Marie in amused sympathy. “It’s how it goes, isn’t it?”

He nodded. It wasn’t likely that Caroline would have been having him watched, but even so, the idea that the slightest romantic interest he showed in anyone could have wound up as evidence repulsed him, even when it came to the set-up with the professional co-respondent. He detested the whole notion of it, that what should be intensely private was suddenly a matter of public enquiry. 

“It was my fault as much as Caroline’s in the first place,” he said, and let go of the rest of it, leaning back into the chair, and looking down at his glass. “I knew there’d been someone else, but I thought now she’d changed her mind, it would all work out.”

Marie watched him. “Well, you were pretty young, weren’t you? You still are. I wouldn’t beat yourself up over it.”

“I don’t think I am,” he said. “And it did work for a while – oh, at least six weeks or so. Then Caroline saw Jack again, and that was that, except it took weeks more before she’d even tell me what was wrong. She just locked herself away – literally a few times. I thought maybe she was ill – I didn’t know what to do.”

Marie raised her eyebrows. “That can’t have been much fun all round.”

“She felt so bad about it,” said Edward. “She knew what she’d done and she felt she’d betrayed Jack, and she couldn’t go on, but she didn’t know what to do about me, either.” He shrugged, and then gave her a wary look. “The worst thing is, really, by the time she went, I was more relieved she’d gone than anything else.”

“Well, I can see how that might be,” Marie said.

Edward said, “I caused all that trouble by running after her, and then the moment things got difficult, all my feelings just went. What does that make me?”

“Oh, perfectly normal, I’d say,” Marie told him, shifting over from the chair to the sofa next to him. “We all make fools of ourselves from time to time, honey. Better your way than mine at least.”

Edward stared down at his glass again, and gave a slight smile. “My aunt said nearly the same thing. Except for the last part.”

“A smart woman, then, I’m sure,” said Marie, and leant forward to take the glass from his hand. “And now you’ve had your say, it’s time to forget about it all, don’t you think?”

Edward turned his head, looking at her. “I’m resigning,” he said, quietly. It was another lie, but he certainly intended it to be more in the way of pre-emptive truth. “They don’t really want me in the service now.”

Marie tilted her head, giving him a quizzical look. “Well, good for you,” she said. “Get out while you’re still a human being. Though I don’t see –” Then she stopped and laughed, putting a hand to his cheek. “Oh, you think I care what sort of games anyone else is playing? If Richard’s up to something, I never get involved, and I certainly don’t give two cents for your people. And you can go or you can stay, Edward, it’s your choice.” She moved her hand upwards, running her fingers through his hair. “I just happen to think you should stay, that’s all.”

“Oh, God,” he said under his breath – and he couldn’t breathe, or he could finally breathe again, he couldn’t even tell – and pulled her in against him, making the inevitable surrender with a kiss.

 

“ _Mr_ Iveson,” said Carlisle, his superior storming into Iveson’s office, even though it had seemed it was beneath the dignity of an under secretary to come anywhere near it lately. He dropped the paper aeroplanes down on the desk. “Why the hell did you give that to my secretary – and where’s that report? Anyway, what time is it? Shouldn’t you be heading off to meet Werner again?”

Edward stood. “Sir?”

“Iveson! Believe me, I don’t have time for this, so I suggest you tell me the meaning of this childish prank now!”

Edward picked up a folded letter from the desk, and held it out to him. “Yes, I’m sorry. Behaviour unbecoming to this office, I know, sir. My resignation.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Carlisle, refusing to take the paper. Then he heaved out a sigh. “Look, don’t be hasty – you’ll weather this.”

Edward continued to hold out the letter. “But my inappropriate behaviour, sir –?”

“Nonsense,” Carlisle said, though he finally took the paper, although he folded it again and put it away in his jacket pocket. Then he gave Iveson a sharp glance. “Well, we’ll discuss that tomorrow. In the meantime, you get to where you’re supposed to be; finish what you started – and Iveson?”

“Yes, sir?”

Carlisle gave him a last glare. “Before you go, straighten out those things and see if someone can bloody well glue them back in!”


	13. Autumn's Outing (M, 1938: Edward Iveson/Marie Werner)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marie could use something to take her mind away from some old memories, and Edward’s willing to oblige – but their ideas don’t necessarily match…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sept. 1938; Edward Iveson/Marie Werner. 
> 
> Prompts: Sea Salt #1 (ocean/sea), Chocolate #25 (inspiration), Papaya #5 (I told you so) + Malt – Ghosts of the Past 5 (a lost love); My Treat – a vacation to the seaside
> 
> Warnings for infidelity; mentions of a past abusive marriage & suicide/violence.

“How much time can you spare?” It was Edward on the telephone. “Can you manage a whole day – or overnight?”

Marie felt the first lift in her present dark mood as she wondered what on earth he’d come up with. All she’d said to him earlier was that she hoped he could make tomorrow to take her out somewhere – to do something, anything, preferably something so very English it would keep her safely far away from her memories.

“Richard’s at a business conference over the whole weekend – somewhere in the north – very grim and dismal it all sounded. I can do overnight all right, Edward, but for heaven’s sake, be discreet.”

“That goes without saying,” he said. “And in that case, meet me at Charing Cross at ten o’clock tomorrow – don’t be late.”

Marie raised her eyebrows. “Hey, I didn’t ask to be dragged out somewhere at an unreasonable hour, thanks. Where are we going?”

“Away,” said Edward. “I thought that part was obvious. Don’t forget an overnight case.”

Marie shook her head as she put the telephone down. Well, she thought, that was what she got for asking him to surprise her: he took her at her word. She hadn’t explained why, of course. She never talked about John beyond brief remarks unless there was some very good reason to go there. Who would? It had been hell at the time, and who wanted to revisit hell once they’d gotten out? She mostly found it best not to even think about it; that was her best revenge. He was gone, and that was that. But this weekend marked a cluster of awkward anniversaries and she just wanted not to be alone in the middle of that. If Richard had inconveniently gone away to talk to a bunch of dull factory owners, well, at least there was Edward.

There was no hiding from it, though, not tonight: tomorrow it was fifteen years since she had married John Brannon. It had taken years to find a way to leave him. John could be the devil himself, but he’d owned a good part of her soul and all of her body back then. She turned away, walking back over to the chair, as if trying to escape such thoughts. She’d trained herself to do it, but she was shaking now: it was six years since he’d shot himself; one last message to her, she always thought. She’d been relieved he was gone, truth be told. She’d left him, she’d managed to get the divorce through, she’d won, but there was still the dread of knowing he was out there, of wondering sometimes if the old pull might still exist, despite everything they’d both done. She shivered. Even so, sometimes the thought of his death scared her: she felt he’d done it with malice against her, choosing that date, and in her worst nightmares he came back, a malevolent spirit to drag her into hell with him.

_Enough of that_ , she told herself, and switched the radio on, then fixed herself a drink. She’d lose herself in the radio, with its painfully proper BBC announcers, and tomorrow she was going somewhere with Edward, somewhere English where John had no place. Marie hadn’t expected a trip, but maybe, she thought, it would be just what she needed –an outing to some quaint little village, perhaps, with thatched roofs and cottage crafts and farm shops and roses. That ought to banish any unwanted ghosts all right.

 

“Come on,” she said, no they were sitting opposite each other in the train compartment as it pulled out of Charing Cross Station. “I’ve played along nicely; now out with it – where is it we’re going?”

Edward leaned back in his seat and looked out of the window. For the moment they had the compartment to themselves, though that probably wouldn’t last. He gave a small, slow smile, evidently pleased with himself. “To the seaside.”

“What?”

“Seaside,” he said. “You sounded as if you wanted to get away, and you said, could we do something silly and English – which sounds like an insult to me, by the way – and so I thought –” 

Marie laughed. “I see. I was expecting somewhere peaceful – with tea and scones and jam. I heard the weather’s not supposed to be good. I’m not sure it’s the time to go bathing.”

“No, no,” said Edward, becoming misleadingly solemn. “It isn’t at all the same unless you have to have at least one picnic on the beach in the rain.”

She shook her head at him. “Remind me never to leave you in charge of the weekend’s activities again! But the seaside doesn’t narrow it down much – where are we going? Somewhere nice, I hope.”

“Hastings,” he said. “ _Not_ Brighton, of course, I promise. But Hastings isn’t far – and it’s historical, seeing as you wanted things to be English.”

Marie leant back against her seat. She wasn’t sure what was supposed to be so obviously wrong with Brighton, but she decided it was better not to ask. “I told you I’m not interested in history.”

“Well, there’s a castle,” he said. “It’s very old – one of the oldest Norman castles in Britain. On a cliff.”

As if, she thought, that wasn’t exactly the kind of thing she meant by not liking history: all these old, decaying places, most of them with grim tales attached of wars and dungeons and death.

“And a pier,” he said, “and a cliff railway. And even if it wasn’t what you wanted, there’s an old town, and I’m sure there won’t be a shortage of tea shops.” He gave her a sideways grin. “With tea and scones and jam, of course.”

 

Hastings did indeed have a castle as promised. It was positioned up on the cliff at one end of the town, as if keeping watch just in case any visitors had too much fun on the pier. It was drizzling as they walked along the sea front, so Marie didn’t think there was going to be any danger of that anyhow.

They’d checked in at the hotel first, which was not the kind of place she was accustomed to these days, although it was a long way from a couple of the cockroach-infested, semi-criminal dives she’d visited with John. It was somewhere awkwardly in between, a quiet place of shabby respectability that was probably as much a lie as she and Edward calling themselves Mr and Mrs Carter for the register.

Still, it might not be sunny, but there was a fresh sea breeze and she appreciated the air after the stuffiness of London. On the front here, Hastings smelt of salt and sea weed and from somewhere, faintly, fish and chips.

“The sea,” said Edward, waving a hand, as if he’d personally invented it, and she shook her head at him, but she looked out across the grey English Channel and saw the sun break through the clouds, the light mirrored brokenly below on the sea. For what she wanted, she thought, it wasn’t all that bad.

Edward turned back towards her. “If it carries on like this, there ought to be a rainbow.”

“It’s okay,” she said, with a smile. “I’m mostly kidding, you know. I like it. What next?”

He held out his hand to her. “The beach, of course.”

“It’s raining,” she said. “What are we going to do down there?”

Edward laughed. “It’s not very bad – it should clear up soon. And we paddle – build a sandcastle, that sort of thing.”

“Do we?” she said, though she let him lead her down onto the beach. She eyed it with some amusement in the light of his last suggestion, as it was largely shingle. “I think you might have some trouble finding enough sand. And, hey, I am not going in the water in this weather!”

He kept hold of her hand, leading her towards the edge of the sea. “No, no, only paddling.” Then he glanced at her, becoming serious. “You said to me on the telephone that you wanted not to think about anything – just to get away, do something silly. Well, that’s what this is, I promise.”

“Yes, I got that,” she said. “But you do remember we don’t want to attract attention – and I didn’t have any intention of getting wet and cold for fun when I set off this morning.”

Edward glanced around the beach. September was the tail-end of the season and it was raining and the only people around were chiefly locals walking their dogs. “I think we can get away with it this once,” he said in a stage whisper. Then he grinned. “So, come on – take off your shoes and stockings.”

“What?”

He turned his head back to her and then laughed, softly at first, then helplessly. It took him a while before he could stop and say anything. “Well, you don’t want to get them wet, do you?”

“No, no, I get it,” said Marie. “For the paddling. I just wasn’t expecting it – and what’s so darn funny?”

Edward crouched down to remove one shoe and sock and then switched his position to do the other. “Well, _you_ being shocked about a thing like that, after everything.”

She straightened up from taking off her shoes – she thought she’d better keep the stockings on; it would only be too awkward to unfasten and fasten them out here – and watched him. “I’ve got standards – and morals. Don’t ever think otherwise.”

Edward looked up at her, still crouched down, the laughter vanishing from his face. “Marie, no. That wasn’t what I meant. I wouldn’t – I mean – _Marie_.”

“I know, honey,” she said, but she wondered if that was true. She was willing to bet he hadn’t meant many other women who’d set out to seduce him as she had, and his discomfort at the fact of their affair was only too obvious. That must surely colour the way he thought about her. And in some ways, that was maybe for the best. She’d had a couple of affairs before, and she knew that keeping the kind of equilibrium and lack of serious attachment she wanted wasn’t easy; she’d had to be careful. With Edward she intended to do the same, but she was in this case more concerned about him – she wasn’t sure he possessed that ability. He wasn’t all that much younger than her, but in some of the ways that mattered, he was, considerably so.

He stood up and held out his hand to her again. “So, then, jump a few waves with me. Afterwards, we can probably find you that scone.”

“It’s not the scone I was after,” she said. “I was only thinking of something more – I don’t know – charmingly olde worlde, perhaps. Not us behaving like children in public!”

 

Once she was over the shock of the cold water, for which she complained at him at length (but squeezed his hand to let him know she didn’t mean the half of it), she found she struggled to keep her balance. The stones and shingle of the beach shifted about around her, and she had to catch at Edward more than once. And while jumping over the smallest waves at the edge of the beach sounded like a peculiarly pointless activity, it was more complicated than it seemed. Some waves died away before reaching them and others would suddenly grow more violent, catching them unawares and wetting the ends of their clothes before they could back away. The tide was going out and when it finally grew too cold for them to continue, she found, a little disorientated, that they were now yards away from where they’d left their shoes.

She shivered as he helped her back along the beach, complaining again about his ideas of fun and the pain of walking on shingle, but she was still laughing and slightly out of breath from the exercise. As they stopped to collect their shoes, she caught him looking at her with a smile.

“What now?” she asked, but she smiled.

Edward reached over to push stray strands of her hair from her face. “Nothing. Only I was right, wasn’t I?”

“I’d have expected you to be too much of a gentleman to say I told you so,” she retorted.

He tucked another lose curl of hair back behind her ear, still smiling. “You’re usually so – impeccable. I’m sorry.” Then he laughed. “No, that’s a lie – I’m not sorry.” He leaned over further and kissed her before turning away to reclaim his shoes.

_Oh, yes_ , thought Marie, _keeping detached was always difficult_. It was like the waves; none of them quite what you expected, some nothing at all, others crashing in, taking you unawares. You paddled at the edges where it was safe, and you could still find yourself in too deep.

He looked up at her as he did up his shoelaces. “I suppose that wasn’t being discreet, was it? But nobody’s watching – and if they were, they’d have already come to their own conclusions just from us being here together. That couldn’t make it any worse.”

“No,” said Marie. “Oh, no. Like you say, it’s bad enough already.”

 

She had wet stockings and a damp skirt and so they had to go back to the hotel to change before Edward could keep his promise and find her a tea shop, but they managed to find one down a side street in the old town, and they did indeed have tea and scones and jam. Marie chose a cake instead. Later on, after more wandering about small shops, they went out for dinner later, Marie drawing a line at eating at this hotel. It didn’t bear thinking about, she’d told him.

“You know why I wanted to go away?” Marie said, after they’d come back, turning to Edward for help with unfastening her long blue and silver evening dress.

He hesitated before answering, focusing on undoing the last button. “I supposed that it was something to do with – with your first husband.”

“Yes,” she said. “Everything. And if Richard hadn’t been away, I wouldn’t have telephoned you.”

Edward let go of her and moved away. “Well, yes, of course,” he said, but stiffly, and she turned around to see him leaning awkwardly against the wardrobe, radiating discomfort.

“No, you don’t get it,” Marie said. “I’m unsettled this weekend because of John – and also because of him, security is the most important thing. And that’s what I get from Richard. Whatever else he might be, he’s not unkind and I know exactly where I am with him.”

Edward looked down as he removed his tie, winding it round his hand. “You’ve said before. I understand.”

“I hope you do, because while we can help cheer each other up a little, I mean us to have a nice time –”

“But that’s all,” he said for her. “I do understand. Look, Marie, that’s it – you _have_ been kind, and I was glad to have a chance to return the favour.”

She laughed. “That’s sweet, but you don’t imagine I’m doing this out of charity, do you?”

“That wasn’t what I meant,” he said, and coloured dully.

She sat down on the bed. “Well, see the way you get whenever I say things like that. And maybe that sounds a little egotistical and vain, but I worry. I don’t want to set you up for a fall.” _Me either_ , she added silently.

“You keep telling me,” he said, and then he laughed and sat down beside her. “So what I do here is my problem. I can’t say you didn’t tell me so if I get in too deep. But you’ve said; you don’t need to say it again.”

She nodded, removing her earrings and her necklace. “And very off-putting it is too, I’m sure. You’ll have to forgive me – my relationships haven’t been the best and I don’t want to drag you into the disaster zone.”

“I’m already there,” said Edward. “I got there all by myself, before I ever met you.”

Marie closed her eyes and lay back on the bed. “You have no idea. You didn’t know John.”

“You didn’t want to think about him,” he reminded her softly.

“No, but it’s hard to shake him off,” she said. “It’s our anniversary.” She sat up again, and turned off the lamp, at which Edward, still unbuttoning his shirt, made a sound of protest. She ignored him. “I’m going to tell you how it was and I can’t do that if I can see you.”

“You don’t have to.”

She smiled to herself. “Bet you’d rather I wouldn’t, but it seems I do need to, this once.”

“It’s not that,” said Edward, although she thought he did sound mildly annoyed. “I’m not sure how I’m supposed to find where I put my suitcase, let alone my pyjamas, with the light off.”

Marie stretched out a hand to his arm. “Well, don’t then. Lie down and listen first. My turn to bore you to death with my woes – can you manage that?”

She didn’t tell him the half of it, of course – merely enough to paint the picture beyond the little she’d already told him when they’d first got together. She didn’t know whether he was bored or pitying her, but that was the point of staying in the gloom: that way it didn’t matter. 

When she’d done, she turned the lamp on again, finding him lying on his side, looking at her, still only half-undressed. She smiled and put a hand to his face.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “You didn’t deserve any of that.”

She sat up again, glancing down at him, playing with his hair with her fingers. “I don’t suppose I did. It’s not really the point, though.”

“Still –”

She shook her head. “That’s more than enough of that. Now, come on – Richard and I are heading back to the States soon, so I don’t know what I’m doing wasting time on the past when the present is deserting us all too quickly.”

Edward propped himself up on his elbow. “Well, we can’t have that.”

“I don’t know when we’ll be back,” she said, putting a hand to his chest. “I think Richard might have something on in the new year. You know, if you meet someone in the meantime –”

He tilted his head slightly. “Did you want me to cheer you up or were you just trying to bring me down to your level? Who am I going to meet?”

“You never know,” said Marie. “And it’s what you need, you know – some nice girl who’s always on the same continent and doesn’t mind building sandcastles with you.”

Edward glanced down, his face in shadow and uncharacteristically unreadable. “I thought you’d enjoyed today.”

“I have, honey,” she said. She was talking too much tonight, and probably getting too many things wrong. “It just needed to be said – same way I needed to tell you about John. It might seem odd to you, but I’m happy as I am.” Richard wasn’t the ideal husband, but then that wasn’t what she wanted: someone like that would deserve more of her than she could give. John had taken too much. She liked Edward and she was very fond of Richard but she wasn’t giving her soul again, not in this lifetime. A person didn’t do that twice.

Edward sat up and then caught at her hand. “Marie, talking of that – what you said about your anniversary – what he did. I mean, you may be right; he sounds like a complete bastard, but choosing that date – maybe he regretted what had happened – losing you.” He gave a fleeting grin. “After all, you keep warning me that a person could get too fond of you.”

She swallowed, and wondered which of them was in the greatest danger. She kissed him and put her arms around him, pulling him nearer. “Enough talk,” she said. If he came out with anything else like that, she might even cry and there’d been enough salt water between them already for one day.


	14. Dismissal (T, 1939: Edward Iveson/Marie Werner)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The truth is often hard to take.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1939, Edward Iveson/Marie Werner. 
> 
> Prompts: Chocolate #16 (Pride), Prune #14 (leave well enough alone)
> 
> Notes/warning: Infidelity, ending a relationship.

“There’s something I have to say.”

Marie Werner arched an eyebrow as she moved across to greet Edward Iveson. “Well, hello, Edward. Do come in.”

“Sorry,” he said, as she shut the door behind him. “It’s just that it’s rather important. Do you remember saying when we first met that you didn’t care about the games my people might be playing?” 

She shrugged. “I don’t recall, but I _don’t_ care, so I expect I did. You think the Foreign Office is up to something?”

“Well, somebody is,” said Edward. “They’ve been asking me –” He stopped, and shifted away from her, too embarrassed to spell out the rest.

Marie gave a slow, rueful smile. “Interested in Richard, I take it? They wouldn’t actually want anything from _me_ , I’m sure of that.”

“Yes,” said Edward, colouring. “They were saying, in effect, that if I didn’t oblige them by – by using this connection that they’d tell your husband. I told them I’d resign and it wouldn’t get anybody anywhere.”

Marie moved away from the door and sat down on the sofa. She threw a look back at him. “Ah, yes, now that I _do_ recall you saying the first time. And, guess what, Edward, you still haven’t.”

“I didn’t realise,” he said, following her across. “That was why they didn’t want me to. I was stupid. I didn’t understand it was that.”

Marie gestured for him to sit down, which he did. “Don’t look so worried. There’s a very simple solution, you know. Break the connection. And then they can go tell Richard what they like, if they’re not just bluffing – and I bet they are. We’re not even here for a week this time. Richard would be angry, but he’s not going to make a fuss when I’ve sworn it’s over and there’s a whole ocean between us, anyhow, even if they go all out and put it in the papers. Like I said, though, I don’t think they will.”

“Just like that?” said Edward. He didn’t mean to be foolish over this, but she’d said it so casually, and he couldn’t help feeling hurt that he could be so easily dismissed.

She leant her head against the sofa. “Yes. Just like that. Like I said, I’m not doing that life and death business for anybody, not again. If I owe anyone, it’s Richard. He won’t mind what he doesn’t know, but cause people to make a fuss and he will. That’s the rules.” She gave a shrug. “So, yes, it’s easy.”

“Yes, of course,” he said stiffly. “I’ll go now then, shall I?”

Marie watched him, and laughed. “Oh, honey, I’ve told you before, you’re not cut out for this game. Personally, I don’t see why they should spoil our last meeting, but that’s your prerogative.” 

“I didn’t mean to be –” He stopped again, leaning forward in his seat, not sure what he was even trying to say. It was all very well, the way she put it, or when nobody said anything about what they were doing, but once it came back down to saying aloud that he was conducting an affair with a married woman, he couldn’t be comfortable with it. He could go along with her reasons, and he could feel that somehow, when she was only rarely even in the country, it barely counted, but that wasn’t exactly logical. “I’m sorry. I should never have stayed that first time.”

Marie gave another half-hearted smile, still watching him. “Thanks, Edward. You really know how to make a lady feel special.”

He risked a glance at her.

“You worry too much,” she said, with a light wave of her hand. “I’ve no patience with you. If you ask me, you should just get on and get married again. I did, and the second time worked out pretty well.”

Edward coloured again, because he’d already said too many of the wrong things without adding that he felt her arrangement with Richard was appalling rather than ideal. “Well, you have to find someone,” he said. “It’s not easy – especially not when your first wife ran away from you after little more than a month. People tend to think there must have been a reason.”

“Well, honey,” said Marie, “you sit there and feel sorry for yourself and it won’t happen for sure, I can’t argue with you there.”

Edward lifted his head in annoyance.

“And it’s no good glaring at me for spelling out the obvious,” she said. “My God, Edward, look at the way you’ve been from the start over us – guilty over every little thing. Well, I’m not. You were miserable as hell that night, and now you’re not. I take all the credit, of course –”

“Modest of you.” He didn’t feel like playing along properly, though he wasn’t sure now if he was really annoyed at her, or at himself. Either way, it was probably only because she was right, and that was always irritating.

“So, you tell me where’s the damage?”

He said, “None, I suppose. Unless we count the Foreign Office.”

“Who aren’t reading you a lecture about what you’ve done,” she said. “No, they thought it was jolly spiffing and told you to carry on, but cut them in –”

He laughed then, at her mockery of a stuffy English accent. “Yes, yes, you’re right, of course, but I seem to be made this way. I’m sorry if I’m being ungracious. I didn’t mean –”

“I’m always right,” Marie said, and put her hand on his knee. “So, say goodbye nicely, Edward, and then go away and see about finding wife number two. And tell whoever’s been asking that there’s nothing doing here any more.”

Edward wished she wouldn’t. Rubbing it in again that he could just be waved away by her, and then going on about marriage when he could hardly help being afraid of what would happen if a second attempt didn’t work out, or even that he might find someone only to discover she wouldn’t want to marry a divorcé in the first place. She could call it self-pity, or wounded pride, or anything she liked, but it would take time before he could even imagine being willing to take that risk.

“You think I’m being cruel,” she said in response to his hurt silence, leaning over and kissing him. “Hand on my heart, honey, it’s the best I can do.”


	15. Wish Me Luck (As You Wave Me Goodbye) (T, 1941: Edward Iveson/Peggy Venn)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward loses an opportunity and has no one to blame but himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sept/Oct 1941; Edward Iveson/Peggy Venn.
> 
> Prompts: Passionfruit #23 (I anchor my ship for a little while only), Sangria #6 (what one refuses in a minute/ No eternity will return), White Chocolate #14 (condescension) + Malt – Birthday prompt ( _I wish I could just be brave_ \- ) + Gummy Bunnies – square "rejection".
> 
> Notes/Warnings: WWII, spies, Blitz, inferred possibility of death/rape.

“Mr Iveson,” said one of the security men, knocking on the door, “there’s a young lady asking for you. A Miss Venn. What shall I do with her?”

Edward Iveson lifted his head and blinked, only gradually resurfacing from the paperwork. “I’m sorry? Who did you say?”

“I’ll send her packing, shall I?” he said, halfway out the door already.

Edward stood hastily. “No, no, it’s all right – I know her. She used to work in my office. I’ve more or less finished anyway – I’ll see her on my way out. Tell her I won’t be more than five minutes.”

He tidied his desk and locked the files away, then reached for his hat and his coat, carrying it over his arm as he made his way down into the lobby.

 

“I’m sorry, sir,” said Peggy Venn when he reached her. “I had to come in and sort out some paperwork, and I thought I’d drop by and say hello. Someone told me you were here. Of course, I forgot I wouldn’t be allowed in. I thought I was going to get arrested for a minute. That’d be a right mess, wouldn’t it?”

Edward gave her a smile and ushered her out into the street. “I’m afraid you’ve missed seeing anyone else. There’s only me left.” 

“You’ll do,” she said, and gave a short smile, looking away from him as they walked out of MI5’s headquarters on St James’s Street and past the cunning disguise of the ‘To Let’ sign outside and on towards the park, in search of a convenient bench. Her hair shone golden brown as they walked in and out of the last of the sunshine. 

Reading between the lines, Edward could guess why she was here. All these things were need to know, but he’d had to authorise her transfer to the SOE. They must be sending her out somewhere, France most likely. Peggy, he knew, came from Dorset, somewhere near Weymouth, but her father was a Channel Islander, and she’d spent enough time over there when she was young to speak French easily. That was why they’d wanted her. He’d rather blithely assumed, though, that she’d most likely be involved in wireless operations at this end, not getting sent out into the field.

“You’re going away, then?” he said, as quietly as he could, stopping beside a bench as she sat down, finding the most discreet way he could of confirming those suspicions. “I hadn’t realised.”

Peggy nodded. 

He couldn’t think of anything to say. How great the risks varied depending on what they wanted her to do, but any way you looked at it, Peggy’s life expectancy was suddenly a matter of weeks or months if she wasn’t careful. Everybody was taking risks these days, but he didn’t like to think of her in such obvious danger. She’d been the most efficient and cheerful secretary they’d had in his office. They’d all missed her since she’d left, or he certainly had.

“So, you see, I thought maybe –” She stopped and looked at him. “How about I buy you a drink, sir? You can see me off, so to speak.”

Edward pretended to be watching one of the birds, walking about on the grass in front of them. It was a daring offer, coming from her, and his hesitation was ungallant. He couldn’t however, pretend it didn’t mean anything, and he wasn’t at all sure what he felt about that. 

“You’re probably busy, of course,” said Peggy, for him. “Shouldn’t have asked, should I?”

Edward got to his feet and held out a hand to her. “No, no. It’s not that. I merely think that I should buy _you_ a drink, or better still, see about buying you dinner.”

“Well,” she said, smiling in relief, “I can hardly say no to that, can I?”

 

He took her to the nearest hotel with a restaurant – the big hotels were all still operating, if sometimes by dubious means, and while there were restrictions on courses, they weren’t otherwise rationed. 

Peggy leant forward after they’d been seated and said, “Maybe we should just have gone for chips somewhere.”

He looked up, and coloured, because he hadn’t thought about both the formality of the place, or the possible implications. “We could leave now, if you’d rather.”

“Of course not,” she said. “I was just going to say these places are too full of people in our line of work, only not the nice ones. I read some of those files, you know.”

Edward grinned. “Well, we’ll try and keep ourselves to ourselves.”

“I shocked you, didn’t I?” she said, after a pause while they studied the menu, such as it was. 

He surveyed her cautiously over the top of the menu. “ _Surprised_ me,” he corrected, though her term was probably nearer the truth. He hadn’t thought of her in this way before, and he was ashamed of himself. There was no reason why he shouldn’t have done, except she’d merely been one of the secretaries. He liked her, though, he knew that much, and he’d certainly felt her absence these last few weeks.

“It’s just that they make it pretty clear what might happen,” she said. “The things I might need to do, if that’s what it takes. And I thought it would be better – I thought –”

“It’s all right,” he said hastily, embarrassed. “Believe me, dinner with you is better than anything else I’m doing this week.”

Peggy watched him, her expression uncharacteristically serious. “No, I don’t think you understand, sir. Or are you only trying to be polite?”

“Yes, sorry,” he said, since he’d known what she meant when she’d asked to buy him a drink. He could understand why now that she’d tried to elaborate, incoherent as her words were. It didn’t take a genius to work out what she meant, and he’d been trying to avoid giving her an answer. He didn’t know where to look. “Look, Miss Venn – Peggy – I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

She gave a small, lopsided smile, and said, “But I still get dinner, don’t I?”

“Of course,” he said, and felt more embarrassed than ever. He didn’t know what else to say, though. “I mean, I’m flattered, honestly, I am. I just – wasn’t expecting this.” He stopped at that point, aware that he was only making things worse. Anyone else would have gone along with what she wanted, he thought uncomfortably. Why the hell was he being so awkward and ungracious? 

Peggy merely nodded hastily, and studied the menu. “What d’you reckon we can have here that hasn’t come via the black market?”

“Oh, God,” said Edward, hating that he’d hurt her. “Peggy, I didn’t say no.”

She bit her lip and then looked up again. “I think you did, sir. Let’s not talk about it any more, shall we?”

 

The rest of the meal was much easier, mostly down to Peggy, determined to cover over her error. Edward was too distracted by regret, wondering if he could tell her he’d changed his mind without it sounding worse. He decided he couldn’t, but they were interrupted anyway by the sound of the all too familiar sirens.

“Bloody hell, not _now_ ,” said Peggy. “That wasn’t expected, was it?” Then she coloured sharply. “Pardon my French.”

Edward couldn’t help laughing at her embarrassment over the swear word, everything else considered, and stood, holding out his hand to her, as they and everyone else made their way down into the hotel’s air raid shelter.

 

They’d been down there for a couple of hours, mostly in silence, but for a fellow diner who was clearly drunk and kept trying to lead everyone in an unsuccessful sing-song. Edward wished he’d get on and pass out like the man on the other side of him, who was busy snoring, but he refused to oblige. It wasn’t like most smaller shelters, or even being down in one of the Tube stations. Everyone here had the vaguely shifty air of having been interrupted in the middle of something, even if it was only dinner.

“You know,” said Peggy in an undertone, leaning against Edward in her tiredness, “the funny thing is, despite everything else I said, I mostly didn’t want to be alone tonight. Got my wish and then some, didn’t I?”

Since the wretched man started up another rousing chorus at that point, Edward couldn’t disagree. Some of the others were bored or anxious enough to try and join in this time. 

“Oh, Lord,” said Edward, with a sigh. “And, yes, I’d say you did. Peggy, I’m sorry, I really am.”

She gave a smile. “It helps, you know,” she said, sounding as if she was about to drift off, too. “The singing. With the fear. If you can get over being musical, I suppose.”

“Maybe that’s what I’m doing wrong,” he said. Being pretentious and looking down on secretaries and people who were only trying to find their own way of getting through this. He closed his eyes and said under his breath, “I hate this war.” Not that everybody didn’t, really, after nearly three years, but there were some people who seemed to get a kick out of some aspects, and he merely hated it all. He shifted slightly, barely having moved for the last hour, and then owned to himself that that wasn’t true. He _did_ get something out of what they did; he just wished that he didn’t.

Peggy heard, though. She shifted against him and said, “Don’t we all?”

“Sometimes I wonder.”

She gave a sigh, and said, “I don’t suppose I’d have even got to be a secretary in that office without it – or this. And it’s maybe not what I would have chosen, but at least I’m being useful. That means a lot.”

“Good, then,” he said, and then couldn’t help grudgingly adding, “I suppose.” He didn’t add that he had to like her putting herself in danger, or that he wasn’t sure how useful it would be, in the end.

Peggy said nothing, and then started singing along with the chorus of _It’s A Long Way To Tipperary_.

“Must you?” said Edward.

“Seems to be the only thing going this evening.”

It might have been deserved, but he was still stung. “I didn’t say no,” he said in her ear. “I merely said that – well, I wasn’t sure it was a good idea.”

“And now Jerry’s put paid to the whole idea anyway,” said Peggy. “So there we are. It doesn’t matter now, sir.”

 

They got the all clear sooner than they’d expected, and emerged out of the hotel into the unlit streets; Edward taking Peggy’s hand as they made their way along, gradually losing everyone else.

“I’m just round this corner,” said Peggy. “Got my own torch. You might as well go back.”

Edward shook his head. “I’ll see you there; of course I will.” It wasn’t as if it was safe out at night in the black out. Then he took her hand again and said, “Look, you said back there you didn’t want to be alone. Well, if you want me to stay, I will – not like that, though, not now, of course.”

“Oh, don’t be silly,” she said. “Go on and get yourself home, Mr Iveson.”

It was funny, because if the air raid hadn’t interrupted them, he felt sure he would have made his excuses and left after the dinner – and regretted it later, he was equally sure – but in between something had changed, and he was reluctant to let go of her quite yet. “I wouldn’t have said it if I hadn’t meant it. Do you still want some company?”

She walked beside him. “I’m dead on my feet now, honest.”

“So am I,” he said. “What if I don’t want to make my way home at this hour? I might never get there alive.”

Peggy gave a weak laugh, and said, “Then I suppose you’d better come in with me.”

 

There were no doubt people hanging onto each other for comfort all over London tonight, Edward thought, although most of them were probably being a bit more active and literal about it.

Peggy’s hotel turned out to be a grubby, hidden place that only just earned itself the name. Her room was small and the ugly green wallpaper was stained with cigarette smoke while the few items of furniture were mismatched and worn. Edward eyed his surroundings with distaste. _Not here_ , he thought, and even if it hadn’t already been too late, he could hardly have taken her back to his quarters. See, he thought, managing a moment of weary bad temper, if she’d only said first, if she’d _warned_ him, he could have found something much better.

Still, it was all too late anyway, in more ways than one. He should have opened his eyes when she was working with him, not waited till now when it might prove awkward anyhow, what them being in completely different branches of the intelligence service now.

There were narrow twin beds in the room, and Peggy sat down on one, putting a hand to her head. He needn’t at least make any arguments about being a gentlemen and leaving her the bed. He looked around him in the dim light and thought it was an unlovely room: everything in it seemed to resent all its occupants, past, present and future.

Edward removed his jacket and sat down on the other bed, the mattress lumpy under the counterpane. Springs creaked, and he thought again, _No, not here._

Peggy lay down on top of the counterpane, still fully dressed. She turned over to look at him. “Look, we both have to try and get some sleep.”

“I was serious,” said Edward. He could understand her being puzzled. He didn’t understand why he’d insisted himself. It wasn’t a last ditch determination to take her up on her offer, and it wasn’t really even truthfully about not leaving her alone. He didn’t want to say goodbye, and he wanted to do something; to make amends somehow. This probably wasn’t much use, either, was it? He sighed and offered to turn out the light, at which she nodded.

He thought about it for a while, and then said quietly, “Miss Venn?” He paused, waiting for her answer, and amused at himself. It might be an odd situation, but they’d certainly already progressed far enough to render such formality ridiculous. “Peggy, I suppose I should say.”

“Yes?” she murmured.

He lay down himself, hoping at least that the wretched place washed the bedclothes properly between guests. “I wanted to say – I may have been ungracious, but I admire you for going. Selfishly, I wish you weren’t. I wish you were still with us.”

“Do you mean that?” she said, and he could hear her sounding pleased, and felt ashamed of himself that it took so little.

“Of course I do.” Then he ruined it by trying to explain further. “And I also wanted to say that tonight – it wasn’t –” He caught himself, and turned so that he was staring upwards, into the darkness. “I imagine you know about my divorce?”

“Office talk. Yes.”

“Well, once that came through, I – I suppose I had an affair. I don’t know exactly how to put it – but I couldn’t be happy with that, and I wouldn’t want to go down that road again. I’m not so sure you wouldn’t regret it too, if we did.”

He couldn’t see her face in the darkness, and it felt like an age before she said anything. He wondered if she’d gone to sleep.

“I think you shouldn’t say anything else,” she said. “Turning me down doesn’t get any better however many different ways you find to say it. And I think you must have just insulted some other poor woman, too.”

“I’m sorry,” said Edward. 

Peggy sighed. “No need. I shouldn’t have asked anyway. It wasn’t fair. I didn’t think of it like that, though, I promise. I only thought – now or never and why not? It was only when we were down in the shelter that I saw how wrong it was. Turn up and say I might be gallivanting off to die somewhere; would you go out with me for the evening? I don’t think either of us can talk.”

“I didn’t think that,” he said, and he decided that, as to the rest, she was right, and it was time to stop making things worse with excuses.

 

He woke in the morning on hearing his name, and opened his eyes in momentary confusion. “Oh, God,” he said, on seeing Peggy watching him, and remembering everything. Why had he come back here? What a way to run the risk of all the scandal for nothing. It wasn’t fair to her, and he didn’t think an air raid constituted a good excuse for ignoring that.

“And good morning to you, too, sir,” she said, busy fastening the buttons of her jacket.

Edward put a hand to his face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. And in the circumstances, you can’t possibly call me ‘sir’.”

“What?” she said, evidently not realising that she had. “Well, I’m sorry to wake you up, but I left it as long as I could. You’ll need to be going, won’t you?”

Edward sat up properly and watched her bustle about, gathering up the few items she’d left out. He felt an abrupt sense of regret that was sharp enough to feel like panic. What sort of idiot was he? His uncertainty of the evening before seemed like utter folly now. He wished he could turn the clock back, and wished for the air raid to have come some other night, but there was no way to alter it or to make amends now. He sighed, and got up and went to the bathroom to do what little he could to clean himself up and feel more human, and then came back to find Peggy pinning her hair back in front of the mirror.

“Peggy, I’m sorry,” he said again. “I’m an ungracious idiot. You should have picked on someone else. Lynam always had a thing for you, you know.”

She turned. “Oh, me and half a dozen others, so I don’t think so.” She lost some of the determined, cheerful composure she’d been maintaining. “You’re right, though, you really _must_ be an idiot, sir. I mean, Mr Iveson. Edward.”

Edward hunted around for his tie, and at the same time, desperately, for something to say that would make it better instead of worse. “Oh, God, Peggy, I meant that I regret it already. Not saying yes, I mean. I have no right to ask, but when you get back, I’d like to see you again. I think we can do better than this, if you still want to try.”

Peggy gave a small nod, reaching for the cap to complete her uniform. “I’ll have to go.”

“Of course,” he said, moving across to her, and kissing her on the cheek. “That’s for luck, as promised.”

She let go of the hat and leant against him for a moment, her head angled down, so that he couldn’t see her expression. He’d been holding back so much for so long, he realised, a blanket of reserve carefully wrapped about him. Edward stepped away, minutely but enough to cause her to look up, and then he kissed her again, more fully this time, up against the ugliest wallpaper he’d ever seen.

“I’ve got a train to catch,” said Peggy, once he pulled back from her. “I really have to go.”

He nodded, ashamed of himself; giving too little last night, too much this morning, maybe too late. “I know, I know. I can’t be late for work, either.”

She kissed him again, a brief, firm farewell and slipped out of his hold. “I suppose I’ll have to come back now, won’t I?”

“Quite,” he said, as she walked out of the door, straightening her uniform again. Edward leant against the wall. “But you won’t,” he said under his breath. It wasn’t just the risk – and that was high enough – but he’d seen it before with some of their own officers and the double agents out in the field. It was hard to come down from the constant secrecy, the danger, the adrenaline rushes; harder still to try and share it with someone who wasn’t there and didn’t know. She’d leave him behind, one way or the other, and the Peggy he knew wasn’t coming back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some WWII MI5 info comes via _Defence of the Realm_ by Christopher Andrew. SOE = [Special Operations Executive](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Special_Operations_Executive)


	16. Last Ditch (1942: Edward Iveson/Peggy Venn, Nancy Long)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward gets a second chance with Peggy, but some things are never simple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> August 1942; Edward Iveson/Peggy Venn, Nancy Long. 
> 
> Prompts: Sangria #4 (once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary), Passionfruit #12 (my candle burns at both ends, it will not last the night), Prune #12 (I could tell you but I’d have to kill you) + Gummy Bunnies (Hurt/Comfort Bingo square “bruises”) + Malt – Birthday Prompt ( _“War is not nice”_ from roisin_farrell.)
> 
> Notes/Warning: references to spies, French Resistance, WWII, Parental estrangement, character death.

Edward met his cousin Nancy at the train station, in order to make a hasty swap of the car and keys to the cottage.

“There’s a hamper in the back,” she said. “Which I intended for us, by the way. I hope you’re fully appreciative of my sacrifice here. Oh, and I had Mrs Henley go in, give the place a once over, too. You can thank me forever after.”

He caught at her arm as she moved to hurry past him onto the station, hearing the first sound of the oncoming train. “Look, it really is our only chance – I’m grateful, believe me. I’m sorry to cause you such trouble.”

“I know,” said Nancy, giving him a quick smile. “I wouldn’t have agreed otherwise. And, as it turns out, later will be better for Isabel anyway. I’ll be back tomorrow to pick up the car, or Father’ll be having words with both of us, and nobody’s going to enjoy that conversation, are they?”

Edward laughed and let go of her, giving her a last wave as she went, and then going over to sit in the old black Austin and wait for the train from London. The time tables had been permanently disrupted for the duration, like everything else, and the train might be vaguely on time, unexpectedly early, or hours late. He’d come prepared and brought the heftiest novel within reach that morning, that being _Orley Farm_ , which ought to be a good antidote to the war. Read out in a country lane like this, maybe he could pretend it wasn’t happening at all. Still, he did hope he wasn’t going to have the chance to finish it. He and Peggy had little enough time together as it was.

 

“I thought you hadn’t come,” said Peggy, meeting him just as he was hastily scrambling out of the car. “I thought, here am I, stuck in some tiny village in Kent where I don’t know anyone, wasting my last day of leave. What did I do to deserve that?”

Edward had been so determined to do better than last time they’d attempted a date. He closed his eyes momentarily. “Peggy, I’m sorry. I was sitting here reading – and I fell asleep. It’s been one of those weeks. You know what it’s like.”

“Yes, don’t I just?” she said, with a sideways smile. “I fell asleep on the train, too – nearly missed the stop. Then we would have been in a pickle, wouldn’t we?”

He leaned forward to kiss her cheek in greeting and take her case. “Well, you’ve made it and I’m here, so, come on, get in and I’ll take you to the cottage.”

“A car and everything,” she said, with a raise of her eyebrows. “What luxury.”

Edward opened the passenger door for her, and shut it behind her, then crossed over to the driver’s side and got in, starting the engine with an effort. “Yes, well,” he said, “in a way it’s a shared family vehicle – long story.” And he told her about Nancy’s efforts on their behalf.

“Well, good for Nancy,” said Peggy. “So you didn’t take the trouble of doing anything yourself?”

“You could go back now and wait for the next train to come along,” Edward said, in mock-annoyance. “I’m sure it’d be here some time before midnight. I nearly got my leave cancelled, I’ll have you know – I was too busy trying to sort that out to make further plans.”

She smiled as she looked ahead. “Then jolly good for you, too. And, seriously, I’m sorry I couldn’t give you more time – but there isn’t much all told, and I couldn’t not see Mum and Dad – you know how it is.”

He avoided her gaze, making a small sound of agreement.

“Oh,” she said, glancing across at him. “Oh, dear, I’m so sorry. Are they –?”

He kept his eyes firmly on the road ahead. “Don’t worry. My father died years ago and I haven’t seen Mother in a long while, that’s all. But, as you see, I have cousins and an Aunt and Uncle, so, yes, I know how it is.”

“Oh, is she abroad?” she asked. “Somewhere safer than here, I hope?”

Edward felt a faint warmth in his face, trying to think how to explain that she wasn’t abroad, she was in Barnet, and guiltily reminded that it was stupid that he hadn’t tried to visit her lately. “No, no. It’s just – complicated.”

“Oh, dear,” said Peggy again. “I’d better stop digging myself into a hole, hadn’t I? Tell me, how far is this cottage of yours?”

He smiled. “Thank you. It’s not far. Another ten minutes or so down the road. I was thinking of a picnic, by the way, but it looks almost certain to rain, so possibly we should have it in the back garden.”

“Well, that sounds nice enough to me.”

 

They stopped outside the cottage – an odd little brick-built, two-storey, four-roomed house that was not as romantic as the term would suggest – and Edward hastened round to open the passenger door for her, and retrieved her case.

“Are you going to be this polite all the time?” asked Peggy suddenly. “I feel as if I’ve been asked out to tea somewhere, and not – well. I don’t want another night like the last one – nothing but crossed wires.”

Edward put down the case to unlock the door, and thought for a moment about getting offended, but instead he grinned. “Don’t worry, Miss Venn. My intentions are almost entirely dishonourable, I assure you.”

“Good,” said Peggy, walking in as he stood back for her. Then she turned again. “Almost?”

“Well, I _was_ serious about the picnic,” he said and caught at her hand with a smile.

 

Edward opened his eyes in the dark, instantly awake, knowing that something or someone had disturbed him. He had a moment of confusion: it must be still only the early hours of the morning and there was no light in the room, thanks to the black out curtains, and as he sat up, he hit his head on the sloping ceiling before he remembered that he was at Plowright Cottage, with Peggy.

She didn’t seem to be there, he realised, reaching out for her, and trying to make her out in the darkness. He was sure he could hear her, just a slight movement from somewhere over to the left. “Peggy?” he said, keeping his voice low.

Peggy didn’t answer, but she sat back down on the side of the bed; he felt the mattress dip. “I heard something – sounded like vehicles.” She paused. “I woke up, got dressed – and then realised I don’t have to do that here. Don’t have to run and hide in case people come looking. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Edward leant against the headboard, and couldn’t think of anything to say. She was presumably removing her skirt and blouse again, judging by the small movements and slight rustling. “It’s all right. I don’t mind.”

She lay back down with a sigh, and Edward put his arm around her, trying awkwardly to kiss her in the darkness. He couldn’t say anything more; couldn’t ask what she’d been through. It would be far too dangerous a topic, the same way she couldn’t ask him how things had been going in the office, though she’d done it once, earlier, and he’d had to shake his head. He wasn’t cleared to know about what was going on in the SOE, which didn’t even officially exist, and she could no longer be permitted to hear about the adventures of Section B. In some ways, it’d be worse than a word or two to a passing civilian; they effectively spoke the same language and could make more sense than they ought to out of the smallest pieces of information. Edward wasn’t at all sure their superiors would be happy if they knew they were together.

He moved again, still holding onto her, though trying to be careful not to catch the bruise on her side, as he’d inadvertently done last night. It was a sobering reminder of the danger she’d come from and was presumably going back to. (Clumsiness, she’d said it was, an incident with the bicycle and the radio, and there you were.) He’d avoided talking about her work not only because of the secrecy involved, but because he didn’t want to spend this brief time reminding her of it when it could change nothing.

He wondered if the strain was getting to her; if the sudden reaction to a noise outside was a sign of that, or if it was only habit, ingrained self-preservation, if she was itching to get back, nothing else real any more. Fear and nerves could get you killed; so could misplaced recklessness – yours or someone else’s. Edward did very little in the way of fieldwork, but he sent others out into it. Not often abroad like Peggy, but still into danger while he was sitting safely, often in an office in Blenheim Palace of all places. He wasn’t so much fighting this war, as trying to find other people to fight it for him, and he was only too aware that someone else had done the same with Peggy: they took people, and they made them into weapons. Or maybe, now, that was true of everyone; maybe the war made them all into weapons.

“Edward,” she said, suddenly, turning in his arms. “What is it? You’re holding on too tightly.”

He let go hastily. “I’m sorry. I was thinking – I didn’t realise.”

“No, I thought you didn’t,” she said, and with another brief breath of a sigh, pulled herself up, pressed against the pillow, her hands clamped over her knees. “Edward. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful or that this hasn’t all been very nice, because it has, but I know it’s only because you felt badly about last time. I won’t expect anything more – I know this won’t happen again, so you needn’t worry.”

It was unexpected enough to almost rob him of breath for a moment. He couldn’t help being hurt that somehow he’d failed so badly that he’d given her that impression. “Peggy,” he said, sitting up beside her and catching at her arm. “How can you say that? If anything, I’ve only been kicking myself ever since for not seeing more of you when it would have been easy.”

“Then what is it?” she said. “All the time, there’s been something. You let it go, but then it comes back.”

He closed his eyes. “I haven’t – there isn’t –”

“I’m sorry, then,” said Peggy, and he could hear the embarrassment in her tone. “I don’t know why – I thought –”

Edward slid his fingers around hers, feeling guilty, because she was right. He made the effort to find a way to explain. “I suppose I keep thinking I might not see you again. I shouldn’t say that; I’m sorry. I don’t mean in the obvious way – but security reasons, and because you’ll want someone who’s been through it with you. I have no idea, not really, and you can’t tell me. But if I managed to give you the impression at any point that I didn’t want to be here, then I don’t know what to say.”

“Maybe,” she said, after a pause, and it stung a little to hear her admit it, “but that’s just silly; you know it is. Wasting the time we’ve got because of what might or might not happen one day.”

“I didn’t think I was.”

She moved in nearer to him. “Anyway, I like _you_ , and I don’t see that about to change. We’ve been through things together, too, you know. Dealing with Captain Andrews – and it’s not everybody I’ve been in prison with.”

“That’s true,” he said, an amused smile creeping over his face. Thanks to the same expansion that had brought both of them into the service at the onset of war, MI-5 had been moved out of its corner of Thames House and into Wormwood Scrubs with such swiftness that the prison had barely had time to get the inmates out, let alone prepare properly for its new arrivals. “I suppose putting your entire security service in prison probably does save time in the end.”

Peggy shifted again to put her arms around him. “And you let me out, after all. I’m still eternally grateful.”

“Peggy, you had the copies of the minutes; somebody would have been back within half an hour even if I hadn’t noticed.” That was another thing that hadn’t been sorted until after they’d all arrived and been given cells as offices: the way you could only open the doors from the outside. It was fine once the telephones had been installed, but various officers had been lost for hours in their own secure and soundproof ‘offices’ until that had been completed. Edward had to grin at the memory.

Peggy leant her head against him. “Well, still. It’s the noticing that counts – and I didn’t much like five minutes. We can’t all be like you and not even realise when it happens.”

“I was busy, and Lynam came back within the hour. And where were you when I needed you, anyway?”

She laughed, and he kissed her curls and wished that he could also tell her that the reason his leave had nearly been cancelled was due to the unlikely fact that he had been chasing a double agent who’d been on the run with a canoe, knowing how it would amuse her. Much better to lighten her mood than bring her down again. It was only, he thought, that he couldn’t seem to shake the feeling that he was going to lose her one way or the other, and he didn’t want to. Peggy, as she’d said, liked him; for Caroline and Marie he had been a mistake in the one case and – well, he still didn’t know what he’d been in the other.

“Now,” she said, sounding a little happier, “you lie down and go back to sleep. We’ve still got the morning left and we should make the most of it, if you’re so determined it’s going to be the last time.”

“Don’t –” he said, and she gave a short nod against him. They couldn’t really joke about that. 

Peggy slid out of his hold and lay back down. “I’ll be all right. You needn’t worry about me. But I can’t talk about it.”

“Of course not.”

“It’s like a whole other world. I can’t. Different place, different language, name –”

“Someone who isn’t Peggy,” he said, softly. “That’s what I meant, I suppose. It’s Peggy I miss every day in the office.”

“But it’s got to be done,” she said. “It’s worth it.”

He grimaced and lay back down. “Yes, yes, of course,” he said, kicking himself for not changing the subject again immediately. He wondered if it _was_ worth it, but that at least was an unhelpful, cynical thought he could keep to himself.

“And you can bloody well be a sight more cheerful in the morning.”

He laughed again, and kissed her one last time. “I promise.”

 

Peggy left on the first train out in the afternoon, which was apparently in fact the 9.24, while Edward had to wait until Nancy’s train came in, so that she could take the car back. It was tiresome, he thought; he should have made arrangements to leave it with someone and gone with Peggy. He would have gone back to the cottage, but it would have been an unforgivable waste of fuel, so he went for a short walk and then set to reading his book again until Nancy turned up, only three quarters of an hour late. 

“Nancy,” said Edward as they made the reverse exchange, keeping her there for a moment longer by not letting go of the keys to the cottage. “I was thinking – Peggy said something yesterday – and I wondered suddenly if you’d been to see Mother.”

Nancy coloured and shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other. “Why?”

“You have,” he said, because otherwise she’d have given him a direct answer. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Slightly irritated, because it made his refusal to visit worse, but he couldn’t help a small smile, because of course Nancy had gone. She was too straight-forward for family quarrels and holding grudges, especially with so much loss of life all around them. “Nan – how is she?”

She stared back at him. “Do you want me to be honest?”

“If I wanted lies,” he said, “I wouldn’t be asking you, would I?”

Nancy took the keys from him and stepped back, looking up at him as she did so. “She was pleased to see me, but while she was very nice about it – asked after us all, and everything – she clearly wanted to know about you – how you were, all sorts of things. You should go, Ned. You know you should.”

“I only asked if you’d seen her,” he said, unable to help getting snappish on the subject. “I didn’t ask for a lecture!”

She gave a weary shrug. “Oh, Ned,” she said. “It’s not, is it? You must know that you’d never be able to live with yourself if something happened and you’d never been back to see her.”

He had to stifle anger, mostly because she was probably right. He couldn’t really say what kept him from at least trying. He thought these days that it probably wasn’t so much anger at his Mother, but the fear that she might not want to see him, that she might push him away as she had when he was a child; or maybe that she might be disappointed in him for his making such a mess of his marriage. “I know,” he said in an undertone. “I know. I will. I just –” He shrugged. Then he forced a smile and said, “Thanks again for everything, Nan.”

“It was nothing,” she said. “Maybe it’s for the best for me to wait for my turn. Maybe it’ll all only go horribly wrong like before – better to put off the inevitable ending.”

Edward had to smile. “Nonsense.”

“I’m so damned afraid it will all fall through,” she said, with unexpected candour. “And, you’re right; it is silly, isn’t it? But I was so sure last time –”

He startled her by giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. They all had their scars and bruises, he thought. They might not be equal, but they were all there: Peggy with her trained reactions to things he could so easily ignore and her literal bruises, he with his shame and sense of failure over both Mother and Caroline, and now even Nancy, it seemed.

Nancy pushed him away, and cut off his attempts at an offended apology with a wild wave and a yell. “The train! Edward, you’ll miss the train!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Both MI5 moving into Wormwood Scrubs and officers locking themselves in their own 'offices' and the story about the double agent with a canoe are real, courtesy of _Defence of the Realm._


	17. Truce (1943: Edward Iveson & Elizabeth Long)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s been much too long since Edward has seen his mother…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> September 1943; Edward Iveson, Elizabeth Long. 
> 
> Prompts: Flavour of the Day (22/12) – irenic. ( _tending to promote peace or reconciliation; peaceful or conciliatory._ ) Flash fic.
> 
> Notes/warning: parental estrangement; illness; references to character death.

Edward hesitated at the door to the house. It had taken a long time to get here – maybe it was too long. Months since he’d heard about Peggy’s death and decided that this had to be done. Over a year since Peggy had said to him, as had Nancy, that he should go and see his mother. Holding grudges in wartime was even more dangerous than it was in peace time. Four years from the start of the war, when that he’d thought that himself, but still hung back from doing anything about it. More than eight years since his mother had failed to come to his wedding and he’d decided that was it: whatever she’d said in the past, she didn’t care. Somebody who cared would have at least sent a reply. Somebody who cared would have said _something_ when they heard how badly that marriage had ended, and how soon. Yes, it was well over eight years since he’d declared war on her in his heart. And it was an impossible twelve years since he’d last seen her, in the autumn of 1931.

He couldn’t knock at the door now he was here; he turned and walked back down the path. It was too late; twelve years was far too long. He didn’t know what reaction would be worse when she saw him. He didn’t know if he wanted his resentment or his guilt to win out, or if there was any hope of it ending in unexpected peace of mind. He thought not.

He made it to the front gate before he halted himself. He was ashamed of not having come before; he was ashamed of his role in the war, so he could do this now, and take Peggy’s advice, because he knew damn well it was right.

Edward walked back up the path, knocked on the door and waited. What if his stepfather was there? What if no one was? Oh God, he thought. It wasn’t fair to suddenly turn up like this. He should have telephoned. He’d just shrunk even more from that: he remembered too many times she’d promised on the telephone that she would see him, and then let him down again.

An unknown, middle-aged woman opened the door and he wondered in alarm if he’d somehow missed the fact that his mother had moved, before he told himself that she was probably only the housekeeper or daily help. He steeled himself, however, not to run away now. “Is Mrs Taylor in?” he asked. “I’m – well –” He wasn’t sure what to call himself. He didn’t want to lie, but he didn’t want to be refused entry on Mr Taylor’s orders now he’d got this far.

The woman stared at him and then her face softened into a warm smile and she stood back, ushering him in. “I know who you are,” she said as he entered the hallway. “You’re her son, aren’t you? I’ve seen your photograph.”

“Infamous, I see,” said Edward, managing to give a brief grin, even though standing in the dark hallway produced a strange sensation in him. It was smaller, less threatening than he remembered – but he _did_ also remember that last, awful holiday he’d spent here, nineteen years ago, and he felt the echo again now of the fears of an eleven year old. “Will you tell my mother I’m here? I, er, take it that Mr Taylor _isn’t_?”

The woman seemed to understand that last enquiry. She shook her head, and shut the door behind him. “No, no. He’s away in the Lake District for a few days; you’re quite safe.”

“You don’t need to tell me,” said his mother, standing at a door at the other end of the hallway suddenly. “I heard. Edward.”

He stepped forward. Twelve years had left their mark: in the time between she seemed to have grown so unexpectedly frail that it made something clench at his heart in alarm, but the years also abruptly ceased to matter. It was still Mother, despite everything, much as she’d always been. 

Edward gave a slight, apologetic smile as he reached her and said, “Mother. I’m sorry. It’s been too long.”


	18. Holding On, Letting Go (PG, 1943: Edward Iveson & Elizabeth Long)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was never how Elizabeth meant things to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> September 1943; Edward Iveson, Elizabeth Long. POV remix of the previous piece _Truce_.
> 
> Prompts: Sangria 26 (though much is taken, much abides); Cookies & Cream 17 (call)
> 
> Notes: Parental abandonment; references to possible mental illness, possible domestic abuse, divorce, death, war, illness.

Elizabeth had never meant to abandon Edward. If she’d known that it was how it would end, she would have made herself find the courage not to marry Hugh Taylor, but no one could see the future and she had persuaded herself that things would work out. 

Hugh had been younger than she was, and still damaged from the war. That he liked her, that he found solace in her and even wrote her poetry – it had all been so new and overwhelming that she had forgotten herself. They had been careless and gone further she had ever imagined she would outside of marriage, leaving her little choice but to accept his proposal but afterwards, she had lost the child. It was now nothing but a guilty secret known only to her and to Hugh. And through everything Hugh had remained incapable of tolerating Edward anywhere near him. He would not acknowledge that she had been married before; it seemed to throw him into a panic in some way.

If only she could have persuaded Hugh to see a doctor, she thought again, as she so often had. Maybe she should have tried harder. He had had some bad experiences in the hospitals as well as in the trenches. People didn’t understand, so he simply maintained that he was well and in most ways he was. It simply wasn’t the whole truth.

She had done her best, after the first disastrous attempt to have Edward living with them. She had seen Edward off to school and met him at the train station at the end of every term. She had gone down to Kent to see him in the holidays, regardless of Hugh’s protests and she had written to him weekly and shown up for every half-term holiday she could manage.

It had not been enough. It had ceased to be enough quicker than she could have dreamt. Edward was a twelve year old boy, after all. It was natural that writing letters was something he saw as a chore and that he wrote to her less and less often. In the end, she, too, had written only infrequently, not wanting to be an embarrassment to him, in addition to her other sins.

Her visits grew more difficult and more painful, while Hugh never shifted on his stance. He didn’t admit that Edward existed, or her first husband, John Iveson. It seemed to be something he couldn’t deal with. Eventually, in the face of his trouble and Edward’s silence, she took what care she could of Hugh and accepted with what resignation she could that she had lost her son. At least Edward had the rest of her family – Ted and Anne, and Daisy, and the girls. Hugh had only Elizabeth. He had a sister, but she was married and lived away.

Even so, when she read the notice of Edward’s marriage in the paper, she felt it over and above the usual ache of her bruised heart, sharp and sudden. He must have given up on her entirely if he hadn’t even written to let her know. She penned a painful note to congratulate him and included some money as a gift, but he never replied.

The others visited sometimes – Nancy, Daisy, and Anne – and they told her what Edward was doing, but often only with reluctance, as if it was a betrayal. She supposed it might be. She had forfeited her right to know.

She had got everything dreadfully wrong twenty years ago and she and Edward must live with the consequences. Sometimes she wished desperately that John had lived and none of this had ever happened, but at others she wondered what might have happened then, if she had still been dazzled by Hugh’s attentions. She might have lost them both far more swiftly and certainly. She thought not, she hoped not – but one could not be certain. She had learnt never to trust herself again.

Elizabeth thought about going to see Edward herself, but over the years, she’d grown unwell – her nerves, perhaps – an old chest complaint – these things added up and dragged her down. And he had the right to want not to see her. She kept the contact up, writing to him once a year, always making it clear that she would be happy to see him if it could be arranged. He never answered.

She felt sometimes as if her letters were going nowhere. It felt unlike Edward to ignore her so completely. There had been occasions when she had caught Hugh disposing of a letter, but he rarely took in the post these days. His man Jennings usually did that, and for Hugh to order Jennings to hide such letters would mean him admitting Edward’s existence. No, she must accept the truth: she had hurt Edward too badly for him to want to try and re-establish any relationship between them.

She had tried to telephone him once. He had a number in the directory; it wasn’t difficult to find. The first occasion there had been no answer, but on the second he had picked up the receiver and she had heard his voice. He sounded so different and yet still so unquestionably like Edward. The shock of it, the fear that he would refuse to speak to her had been overwhelming, and she’d waited on the other end, mute, while he merely said, “Hello? Hello?” in annoyance and eventually put the telephone down.

If she could have believed he wouldn’t turn her away she might have called for a taxi one day when Hugh was on one of his travel writing tours and gone round to see him, never mind her lack of health, or her nerves, but she had wronged Edward too much to insist on seeing him against his will.

 

When he called that day, Elizabeth knew it was Edward before Mrs Welland had even opened the door. She couldn’t explain it afterwards – it hardly been expected (except in the way that she never ceased to expect it) – but she’d known it was him from the way he knocked on the door. It had sounded like him somehow.

She held her breath, listening to the conversation in the hallway, trying to quell the wild hope within, but she’d heard his voice again, sounding much as he had on the telephone.

“Edward,” she said, making her way out into the hallway.

He turned and she smiled involuntarily, because she would have known him anywhere. He had grown - too tall, too thin, she thought anxiously – and he was so much older, at odds with the image of the awkward teenager she carried in her head, but he wore a familiar smile as he stepped forward to greet her. “Mother,” he said. “I’m sorry. It’s been too long.”

“Yes, come in,” she said, in much the same understated way, although inwardly she was suddenly unsteady, her frame too brittle a container for her emotion. Whatever he was feeling, he merely nodded and followed her in through to the sitting room. He always had been more like her than John in that way, she thought with a pang of irrational guilt.

Once she was safely sitting again and Mrs Welland had busied herself about finding out what he wanted to drink, she could look at him properly, searching him much as she had used to before she sent him to school. “You look tired,” she said, watching as he sat down in the sofa opposite, perching too near the edge of it to be comfortable.

“Blame the war,” he said, with another quick, uneven smile. “Too many broken nights.”

Elizabeth had wondered about that, what he was doing. Nancy had been to see her a few months ago, but she had been extremely vague when Elizabeth had asked. “And you are –?”

“Busy,” he said, but he met her gaze. 

She registered surprise, realising that he still expected her to understand the things he didn’t say. In this case, it wasn’t hard to interpret. “Careless talk, yes,” she murmured. He must be in Intelligence in some way, she knew. She disliked the idea – it wasn’t something she could see Edward being happy with. But that was the war all over, wasn’t it?

“I don’t know what to say,” he said, breaking out of their pretence that this was nothing unusual. “I’m so sorry. All I can say is that the longer it got, the more difficult it seemed to try and see you – but that’s hardly an excuse.”

Elizabeth shook her head. “Ned, darling. You mustn’t apologise to me. I never wanted to leave you, but I did. The fault is mine. Let’s say no more about it. There’s nothing to be done – nothing that can be mended. Only that I hope we’ll meet again now – as often as you choose. I knew how angry you must be when I saw the marriage notice,” she added. “Not to tell me. And how could I blame you? I let you have your peace after that, for the most part.”

Edward, who had started looking down, now jerked his head back up again and stared at her. 

“I’m sorry?” he said eventually. “Mother?”

She tried to smile. “It’s all right. I understand, darling. How else could you feel, after everything?”

Edward shook his head, leaning further forward. “No,” he said. “It’s not that. Mother, I _sent_ you an invitation. Oh, God, it must have got lost in the post somehow. And I thought – that was the point where I – well, that doesn’t matter, either. I’m sorry.”

“Ned,” she said, again. It was unbearable to have him apologise for something that was her doing. She held out a hand to him and he shifted forwards to take it, then kneeling beside her. She hadn’t lost him, or at least, not in the way she’d thought, gradually letting that sink in. He _had_ invited her to his wedding; he had tried to keep up the connection as far as he could. It had fallen apart after that, with them both hurt over a stupid misunderstanding that had only been the fault of the Royal Mail.

She looked up, hearing the floorboards creak in the hallway as Mrs Welland approached with the tray and Edward drew back onto the sofa.

“How are you?” he said, once the housekeeper had gone again. “I mean – you don’t seem well.”

Elizabeth shook her head. “Oh, only my old problems. Nerves, you know. And a few other things. Drink your tea, and don’t worry about me.”

He laughed, and did as she suggested. “You know, sometimes you and Aunt Daisy are rather alike.”

“I doubt she’d be pleased to hear you say so. I thought she was going to eat me last time she was here.” Elizabeth picked up her cup and saucer and tilted her head slightly. “If you don’t have any objection, we have a good few years to catch up on.”

Edward coloured. “You heard – about Caroline?”

“ Yes. I do hear _some_ things, you know. The headlines, as it were,” she said. Divorce to her was a shocking thing, and she hadn’t known what to think for a while, but she had also been almost a little envious. In many ways, it was a shame that she couldn’t have done the same thing. “I was very sorry, darling. Does it still bother you?”

“Only the talk sometimes,” he said. “I’m certainly not pining for her, if that’s what you mean. It was something of a disaster in the end.”

“And is there anyone else?”

Edward took a long sip of his tea, pausing before replying. Eventually he nodded, lowering the cup. “There was, but the war put paid to that. Maybe it wouldn't have worked out, but now we’ll never know.”

“If only it would end,” Elizabeth murmured. The last war had damaged Hugh, and now they were all caught up in another. Edward might not be fighting away, but she wondered again what he _was_ doing and how he felt about it. But, there, one could not write Military Intelligence a note to excuse one’s son in the way one could at school when he was too unwell for games.

“Yes. But I’ll come back,” said Edward. “Soon, I promise. If you let me know when might be convenient.”

She could die now, she thought, if she must. Then she shook herself, knowing that that was mere morbidity, and hardly of much use to either of them. “Do,” she said. “Let’s try not to think too much of the past.”

Neither of them, however, she noted sadly when he had gone, dared speak too much of the future, either.


	19. Under Any Other Circumstances (T, 1947: Edward Iveson/Julia Graves)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward Iveson runs into Julia Graves for the first time, but you can’t start a love affair in a mortuary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1947, Berlin. The first meeting between Iveson and Julia.
> 
> Prompts: Chocolate #3 (sympathy), Papaya #12 (you don't know what you're missing), Passionfruit #8 (to hope, till Hope creates From its own wreck the thing it contemplates) + Malt (Relationship Prompt #5: First…) 
> 
> Notes/Warnings: This is where the history starts becoming alternate. (The Yorckstrasse incident & all political groups mentioned in passing here & onwards are entirely made up.) References to several character deaths; grief.

“Damn,” said Hellings, peering out of the door before shutting it again in haste, as if hiding from someone. “There’s Miss Graves again. I’d forgotten. Pass me that file, will you?”

Edward Iveson picked the folder up but glanced over at the door, even though Hellings had already closed it. Still, he didn’t need to look; he’d noticed the young woman waiting outside when he came in. “Is that who she is? Then I don’t see why you should be complaining.”

“Oh, well, old boy, if you’d rather tell some female that her mother and brother are dead, you’re welcome. And you’ve just confirmed that so is the younger brother, so now I’ve got to ask her to identify the body. I should bloody well think I am complaining. I don’t even know why she’s here. She shouldn’t be!”

Iveson kept hold of the file. “If you’re going to attempt it with that attitude, then I shall. Besides, if you mean that he was one of the unfortunates at Yorckstrasse, then, as you say, I’ve been liaising with the Americans over that.”

“Well, go on, then,” said Hellings, with a wave of his hand. “Take her into your office, give her some tea, pat her hand, and take her down to the mortuary when she’s finished sobbing. See how far it gets you.”

Iveson hesitated in the doorway, and looked back at Hellings. “You’ve got something against her, haven’t you?”

“Iveson, her family decamped back to Germany at the worst possible moment and now I’m supposed to waste my time sympathising with her over it? Whole thing’s their own fault. Mother was German, and there you are.”

Iveson said, his sarcasm overlaid with apparent solemnity, “Yes, that _would_ explain everything, sir.” As he shut the door behind him, he thought that she must be Hanne Graves’s daughter. He had wondered on hearing the name. Hanne Graves, from what he remembered, had not been in the least political, and he had a vague recollection of the eldest son being something in the same line. The younger two he couldn’t recall meeting.

He walked across the corridor to where Miss Graves was waiting, sitting in a battered wooden chair.

“Miss Graves?” he said, stopping beside her. “If you’d like to come with me, I should be able to answer your questions.” 

Miss Graves looked up at him, as if she were weighing up whether or not she should, and Iveson moved across to push open his door, embarrassed at her scrutiny, and thinking again at the same time – not for the first or last time – that Hellings was an idiot.

She walked past him into the room, which wasn’t much better furnished than the corridor and glanced around her warily.

“I’m sorry,” Iveson said, shutting the door behind her and offering her the nearest chair. “These are temporary quarters for a temporary office – none of us will be here for much longer.”

She looked at him blankly, and he supposed that she hadn’t been thinking of the decor. She merely said, “They sent me here from the Embassy and said to ask for Mr Hellings, but you’re not –”

“My apologies,” he said, moving around the desk to the opposite chair. It creaked alarmingly when he sat in it, and he tried not to be too embarrassed about that, either. She didn’t seem to notice. “I’m Edward Iveson. Hellings thought I should speak to you. You see, your query relates to a matter I’ve been dealing with.”

Miss Graves wasn’t particularly interested; she only nodded vaguely and then leant forward. “You can tell me something about my family? I was told that Mother and Christy – my oldest brother, Christopher, I mean – were dead or missing, and I wanted to confirm that.” She hesitated, and took a rather uneven breath, and then added, sounding a little more natural, “Well, no. I don’t want to confirm that at all, but you understand.”

“Of course,” he said too quickly, and then looked down, covering his further awkwardness by flicking through the files he’d taken from Hellings. One was his own; the other was what Hellings or one of his underlings had found out for her about Hanne and Christopher Graves.

She tilted her head slightly to one side, raising an eyebrow. “Do you need a moment to read up on the subject?” she asked, rather pointedly.

“Miss Graves,” he said, glancing up. “No. It’s merely –”

She pressed her hands into fists on the desk, still leaning forward. “Bad news,” she said. “Of course it is.”

“Yes, I’m afraid so,” he said. “Whatever reports you heard, they were most likely correct. Ah… would you like a drink first?”

She closed her eyes, and said, “No, thank you, I would like to know what happened to my family. Please.”

“Yes,” he said. “I’m sorry. I was only thinking that perhaps –”

She opened her eyes again. “Yes, I’m sorry, Mr – Mr –?”

“Iveson.”

“Well, Mr Iveson, I suppose you were meaning to be kind, but I’ve been waiting and waiting these past two days. Everybody has told me I shouldn’t have come at all, but nobody will answer my question. If you could just do that, then I would be very grateful.”

“Christopher Graves was reported missing in 1943,” said Iveson, nervous and taking her instructions too literally. “Your mother was as one of the fatalities in a bombing raid in 1945.” He glanced over at her anxiously, not feeling that he was, after all, doing this any better than Hellings would have. He hadn’t meant to be as blunt as all that. “And I am so very sorry, but we’ve had some further news –”

“Oh, God,” said Julia involuntarily, and looked at him again. “Rudy. Please, you don’t mean Rudy, too, do you?”

Iveson would have given a lot to have been able to answer no. He had the stifle the impulse to say it anyway, even though it would have been more than unhelpful. “He seems to have been involved with a radical group. Two days ago there was some rioting, and I’m afraid he was shot and killed.”

She stared at the desk, and then said, her voice unsteady, “What was it you were trying to offer me, Mr Iveson? Tea or brandy?”

“Whichever you would prefer,” he said. “In the circumstances. Except that it’s merely whatever passes for tea these days and Scotch, but you’re welcome to either.”

She gave a short laugh, and then pressed her hand to her mouth.

Iveson looked at her, and fetched out the scotch from the worn and scratched side cupboard, and poured her a glass. “The tea’s dreadful stuff,” he said, passing it over. “Better have this.” Then he sat back down and watched her in concern. He usually just collected the information. Occasionally, he had to write letters, or there were odd enquiries from soldiers, but they didn’t get relatives. If she was here, it was a measure of her determination – or her desperation.

“Thank you,” she said, after a delay, putting her hands around the glass without drinking it. Then she looked up again. “Did you say two days ago?”

He nodded. “I am sorry,” he said again, uselessly.

“No, it’s not – it’s only – you see, I arrived here two days ago,” she said, and gave a shaky, tearful laugh that alarmed him. “He was probably still alive.”

Iveson couldn’t think of anything to say to that and tried instead to look as sympathetic as he could. “I’m afraid,” he added, after the longest interval he could give her, “that there’s something else.”

“Oh, well, there can’t be,” said Miss Graves. “That is all the family I had, unless you mean to have me shot, too, and I didn’t think you were allowed to do that.”

Iveson glanced down briefly, and then said, “I realise it’s difficult, but we’d like you to identify the body. There is always the possibility we’ve made a mistake.” He immediately wished he hadn’t said that; he wouldn’t want to give her false hope. “We are fairly sure,” he said. “But since you _are_ here –”

“I see,” she said, rather dully. She put the glass down, the drink still untouched. “Yes, I will. If I must. It’s only – it all seems so unreal.”

“We don’t have to hurry,” he said. “Do finish your drink.”

Miss Graves stood, and gave him a slight, distant smile. “I don’t care for scotch,” she said. “But thank you. I expect you meant well.”

 

The visit to the mortuary was thankfully brief enough. She’d nodded at the official – yes, it was her brother – while Iveson watched her. He saw her pale, and gave a tell-tale miss-step, and hastily ushered her out, cautiously putting an arm around her shoulders, glancing down again anxiously, worried that she was going to faint.

She didn’t, but she didn’t protest, either. The unreality was giving way to the reality, he supposed.

“Miss Graves,” he said, as she sat down on the steps outside, and stared ahead. She didn’t respond. “Miss Graves,” he said again. “Would you like to me to escort you back to your hotel?”

She looked up at him blankly. “I’m sorry?”

“I can take you back to your hotel,” he said again. “Wherever it is you’re staying, I should say.”

She paused again before speaking, the words evidently only getting through slowly. “Oh, no, I can get a cab, I expect.”

“Miss Graves,” he said, and with a wary look around him before he dispensed with his dignity, and crouched down beside her. “You might not be able to, with things as they are, and they’ve let me have use of the car. I really think I ought to see you safely somewhere.”

She looked up at him, and gave a tired nod, getting to her feet. He offered her his hand, but she ignored it; whether deliberately or because she simply was hardly aware of anything or anyone else just then, he didn’t know.

Iveson led her back to the car, opening the door for her, and waiting to see her inside, before going round to the other side to join her. “The address?” he asked quietly, and when she told him, and the driver set off, he turned his head towards her again. “Is there anyone I can contact for you?”

“I’m staying with someone,” she said. “A friend. She’ll be home soon and in the meantime I’d rather be alone.”

He nodded, and then stared out of the window, angling away from her, trying to give her as much space as one could in a car.

When they dropped her at her destination, the driver let her out, and she walked away without looking back.

“Back to the office,” Iveson said to the driver. “Thank you.” He stared out of the window again, and knew it was selfish and inappropriate to mind, but he did.

 

“You know,” said Hellings, when he saw Iveson again, “if you’d taken a fancy to her, you should have left it to me, shouldn’t you? Then you could have swooped in after and passed her a hanky. You don’t think these things through, old boy. Nobody likes the messenger, not when he comes with that sort of news.”

Iveson gave Hellings his best blank, puzzled stare, before leaving, not dignifying Hellings’s inanities with an answer. And it couldn’t matter; it really would be hopelessly wrong to let it matter – it was far too brief, too slight an encounter to dwell on it – but, oh God, Iveson thought, Hellings was right. He could hardly have done anything differently, but he must have inadvertently made himself the last person Miss Graves would ever want to see again. And, yes, it was selfish and inappropriate to mind, but he did.


	20. The Games We Play (T, 1949: Edward Iveson/Julia Graves)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julia Graves is pursuing Edward Iveson for information. What Iveson wants from her, she doesn’t know, but she's curious to find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> June, 1949: Edward Iveson/Julia Graves, Paris & a lot of AU history (although some are based on some real events and groups).
> 
> Prompts: Passionfruit #11 (‘Twas blow for blow, disputing inch by inch, For one would not retreat, nor t'other flinch); Papaya #11 (it’s not what it looks like) + Brownie & Malt (Relationship prompt #1 First Date)
> 
> Notes/warning: references to loss; gunfire; spies & a questionable start to a relationship.

Julia Graves was supposed to be attending the reception at the US Embassy as a lowly member of the catering staff, but she’d persuaded a colleague to cover her absence (via a shameless combination of pleading, low level bribery and lying about wanting to meet an old acquaintance), and now here she was in the bathroom, successfully attired in her one decent cocktail dress, ready to go out and mingle with the guests. She paused to glance worriedly at the mirror one last time, wishing she’d been able to fix her hair properly, but one couldn’t work miracles, and, anyway, her reflection reassured her that it didn’t look too bad.

It wasn’t exactly true about the old family friend that she didn’t want seeing her in her current more straitened circumstances, but on the other hand, it wasn’t necessarily wholly untrue. There was bound to be someone here who’d known her parents, after all, and she _had_ met Edward Iveson once before, even if all she could recall of him was a vaguely sympathetic presence on an otherwise hateful day. Besides, it was no good worrying about whether or not she’d lied to Jeanne, given why she was here. She preferred to think of it in other terms, but most people would call her a spy if they knew.

Simone, her contact with the United Europe movement had asked her to approach someone here. She’d mentioned three possibilities from the British contingent, and when she’d passed over the pictures, mostly press cuttings, Julia had frowned at the grainy quality, and then paused on Iveson’s, the name and the image together tweaking something in her memory. “But I know him! At least, I think I do.”

“That is excellent, then,” said Simone. “We want to know what the British have in mind but even if you cannot, we believe he may be sympathetic to our ideals, and we could use him.”

Julia passed the picture back. After the years of war, she believed as fervently as any of them that the way forward lay in peaceful means, and in the European nations working together, but when it came down to this, she couldn’t help feeling uncomfortable, and she drew back from the table. “And I can find that out at a reception while I’m serving the canapés? What exactly do you want me to do – seduce him?”

“Only if you wish to,” said Simone, and bit back a laugh. “Your face, chérie! Don’t look so outraged. That is up to you. Merely encourage him to talk to you. If you can gain information or support, all to the good. If not, well, we tried. Find one of the others if you can.”

Julia coloured and nodded. “Yes, I see. I’m sorry.”

“Will he know you?” Simone asked, stealing a more curious glance at Julia.

“I don’t know – I shouldn’t think so,” said Julia. “Perhaps. It depends how many young women he escorts to the mortuary, I suppose.” She reached for her handbag, ready to go, but her hand was shaking. That occasion was one she tried not to think about. “Anyway, I shall try, and at least that gives me a reason to approach him.”

 

Now Julia threaded her way through the mass of other guests, mostly men in suits talking earnestly together, with a few women scattered in between. She could see Iveson, standing by the wall with another man, shorter and older, who seemed to be getting rather excitable about something. Iveson merely looked awkward, evidently listening, but glancing down at his drink, and then out at the other guests. He saw her as she neared them, before politely returning his attention to the other man, but then he looked back at her again, possibly trying to place her in his memory, and, rather to her surprise, she saw the light of recognition in his face. She wouldn’t have known him without the picture, or at least the expectation that he would be here.

“Miss… Graves, isn’t it?” Iveson said, as she reached them. He looked back at his companion. “You will forgive me?” Then Iveson moved forward and offered her his hand, looking down at her with concern. “Things are a little better now, I trust?”

Julia stiffened at the sound of his voice. It was funny what one remembered without realising, and now it brought back that awful moment sharply – standing there in the mortuary with Rudy, and Iveson speaking to her from somewhere a thousand miles away. Or before that, when he informed her of the facts: regretful and formal. She shook herself and took his offered hand briefly. “Yes, yes, of course.”

“Miss Graves?” he said after a pause, sounding puzzled.

She gave a smile. “I saw you over here and wanted to speak to you.”

Iveson watched her, still slightly frowning. He raised a quizzical eyebrow. “To me?” There was an almost mocking note in his voice now. “Why?”

Somehow, after that greeting she hadn’t expected him to be so awkward. “I thought, after you left me that day, that I should have thanked you. And now I have the chance.”

“Really?” he said. “I would have thought you would have preferred not to remember that particular occasion.”

Julia coloured, angry with him for making it difficult. It wasn’t very chivalrous of him, even if it was true. “I’m not acquainted with many of the other guests, so –”

“Oh, I see,” he said, with faultless but repellent politeness. “I understand. Do allow me to introduce you to someone else – I’m sure I can find someone more appropriate for you to talk to.”

She raised her head, and met his snub with icy civility. “Thank you, Mr Iveson. I think that would be best.”

 

Julia escaped from the group he’d introduced her to as soon as she decently could. She was then cornered by the French Foreign Minister, who seemed to think she was somebody else before moving on to collect a glass of champagne from a tray, careful not to look in case one of her colleagues gave her away. She fumed silently. She didn’t understand how, but Iveson must suspect her purpose, which rendered the whole thing pointless. She supposed she find the next name on the list, but one try had been humiliating enough – she’d just tell Simone it hadn’t worked out, and she could go back to trying eavesdropping while she served tea.

“Miss Graves,” said Iveson from behind her, making her start. “I was, ah, rather impolite, wasn’t I?”

She turned, and gave him a measuring look. “To say the least.”

“Then I’m sorry,” he said, and gave her a small smile. “What _did_ you want to speak to me about?”

Julia shrugged. “What I said. There was nothing good about that day, but you were more helpful than that awful other man I saw. What was his name, do you remember?”

“Hellings,” said Iveson. “Indiscreet of me to give him away, of course, but he’s retired now – probably busy peacefully withering roses somewhere. If it’s any consolation, he was always like that.”

“Well,” she said, “you were under no obligation to escort me anywhere, but you did. I wasn’t sure I hadn’t been rude, but if I had, you’ve paid me back in full, so I shan’t worry over it again.”

He eyed her curiously. “And that is why you wished to speak to me, rather than anyone else here?”

“It was also true about not knowing many of the other guests,” she said, giving a quick, rueful smile. “Even if it weren’t, would that be so impossible?”

“I would have thought so.” 

Julia glanced downwards at her glass, unconsciously running a finger along one edge of it as she wondered what to say. Even now her assignment was looking a little more hopeful, she felt unwilling to try again. But of course, it all came back to that same day: when Iveson had told her about Rudy, when she’d found out how he had been involved in the movement – that was why she was here. If she was going to walk away from that, she might as well have gone home two years ago and faced the pity of her friends. 

“You did want something else,” Iveson said, and Julia looked up again. There was a note of amusement in his voice, but she wasn’t sure which of them it was aimed at. “I’m curious.”

Julia made up her mind. She smiled but let her gaze stray into the distance. “Perhaps, but I can’t possibly explain here.”

“No,” he said, and he sounded again as if he was humouring her. “It’s a terrible crush. You couldn’t possibly. I have a suggestion, if you’re willing.”

“Oh, yes?”

“We’re due to attend a play at the Théâtre de l’Odéon tomorrow evening. Would you like to accompany me? I’m sure we could find a moment to discuss whatever this matter is at some point during the evening.”

He was clearly wary of her and she didn’t know why he had changed his mind, or what the invitation meant. It could all be very simple, of course, or it could be a trap. If he had some suspicion of who she was, maybe he wanted information from her; maybe he hoped she would give herself away. It made it an odd sort of battle between them. Julia lifted her chin, feeling suddenly much more alive than she had in ages. 

“That would be lovely, thank you,” she said, and gave him her best smile.

 

“Well?” said Simone, meeting her outside the pâtisserie. 

Julia stared ahead along the busy street. “Nothing but an invitation to the theatre tonight.”

“Oh?”

Julia smiled to herself. “I think he was suspicious. But I thought it was worth following up. Or do you want me to stand him up?”

“No, no,” said Simone, taking a drag of her cigarette. “So you think –?”

Julia turned away into a quieter street. “Well, either he’s interested in me, or he’s interested in whoever I’m working for. It seemed worth a try to me.”

“I agree. The information would be useful, but as an ally – he could be invaluable.”

Julia didn’t say anything more, because she’d only be tempted to betray her dislike of these methods, or her inability to see what she was supposed to do with Iveson. And since staying silent let her play both the organisation and Edward Iveson, then why not?

 

The play turned out to be terribly earnest and hard to follow. Julia’s French was good, but in this context, it still took concentration and she grew increasingly sure this performance wasn’t worth the effort. She glanced at Iveson as discreetly as she could, wondering what he made of it. There seemed to be quite a lot about a man whose wife had married him for his money, and was regretting it at length, mostly to her lover. Julia had read the notes Simone had given her and she knew that Iveson’s first marriage had ended in what might have been similar circumstances. There was no telling how he felt; he was focused on the stage, his face expressionless. However, he turned his head towards her, catching her watching him and amusement crept over his face. He raised an eyebrow.

“Mr Iveson,” she whispered, leaning towards him, “don’t you think this is all dreadfully tedious?”

He didn’t reply, but she was sure he was trying not to smile.

“We could leave,” she said, nodding towards the tantalisingly near exit.

Iveson hesitated. 

Julia touched his arm lightly, and said, “I don’t think I can bear it any more. If you wouldn’t mind too awfully –”

Iveson nodded, and they both crept out into the stairwell.

“I am sorry,” said Julia, remembering to keep her voice low, “but things are bad enough, aren’t they? We don’t need any more tragedy in the world.”

Iveson held the door for her as they made their exit, and looked about him warily. “They’ve kept us to a tight schedule,” he told her. “The discussions take place, and afterwards a car arrives to take us here, or there, for business or pleasure, and there it is again at the end. I feel like a fugitive.”

“And I thought it sounded so exciting, being one of the delegation,” Julia said, with a laugh. “Do you think anyone will come after you?”

He paused at the bottom of the steps. “Oh, I think not. If it were the Foreign Secretary, that would be another matter. I daresay somebody might be watching, though. Just in case.”

Julia realised that the last might be a warning for her, and if it was, felt unsure what she should make of that. “Well, let them, then. We’ll see if we can still go into the gardens – if you’d like?”

“Of course,” said Iveson, leading the way along from the theatre towards the Jardins du Luxembourg, now tantalisingly visible through the railings beside them. “And perhaps now you can ask me whatever it was you had in mind?”

Julia shook her head. “Oh, but I explained yesterday. I was pleased to see a familiar face, that’s all.”

“No,” said Iveson. “I’d be delighted to believe you, of course, but I think not.”

She hugged her arms against herself, though it was a warm evening. “I thought you might know something. Not anything terribly secret – I just want to hear that you’re getting somewhere with the talks. You remember how we met before? And there’s unrest here, too. So much trouble everywhere.”

“I can’t possibly say anything about that,” Iveson said. “I’m barely even involved, not at that sort of level, and even if I were –”

She sighed. “All I want is a sort of reassurance, I suppose.”

“Oh?”

“I think this is such an important thing,” she said, turning at the nearest open gateway and facing him. “And I know I’m not involved at all and I don’t have any right to ask, but I’m so afraid they’re going to throw away our last chance. We’re only going to get somewhere if we can work together. Don’t you think so?”

“Of course,” Iveson said, as they walked into the gardens together. “You may be right, but I’d like to think not, at least until the end of this week.”

She sat down on the grass and gave a quick rueful smile. “What a silly idea – asking a politician for an answer!”

“Was that all?”

Julia nodded. “Although I _was_ relieved to see you yesterday, and I don’t see why you should be ungracious enough not to believe me.”

“You didn’t see the look on your face,” he said quietly, lowering himself down awkwardly to sit beside her. “When I spoke to you. You looked quite horrified for a moment, and I’m not surprised. But we’ll pass over it, shall we? What brings you to Paris, Miss Graves?”

She shrugged. “What brings anyone anywhere? I knew a friend and they found me a job at the American Embassy. It wasn’t Berlin, and it wasn’t home, and that was all I wanted.”

Iveson nodded, but said nothing, watching the scene in front of him.

“I suppose we should go back to the theatre,” she said, straightening herself, ready to rise. “Best not to get you into trouble, after all.”

He turned his head towards her, and then startled her by grabbing at her arm and pulling her back down. “Miss Graves!”

She had her mouth open, about to demand an explanation, when she heard the gun shots from somewhere behind them.

“I’m sorry,” Iveson said, releasing his hold on her. “I saw something – out on the street.”

Julia put her hands to the ground, trying to calm herself. She was shaking; her breath uneven. “Better safe than sorry,” she managed, possibly too cheerfully. She closed her eyes. It wasn’t as bad here, but there was fighting sometimes – Communists, and plenty of other groups. She hadn’t heard the bullets being fired so close, though, since Berlin. She could still see the bodies on the street, and knowing now what she knew, that Rudy –

“The theatre,” said Iveson abruptly, scrambling to his feet in undignified haste. “It must be! Miss Graves?” He held out a hand to her, and they started back towards the theatre, before he stopped.

Still caught up in her memories, she only looked at him blankly, wondering why.

“In which case, running in that direction isn’t prudent,” he said. Then he frowned, and leant slightly sideways as he looked down at her. “Miss Graves?”

Julia shook herself. “I’m sorry?” She tried to make herself follow what he was saying, and not think about the shots, think about bullets hitting their targets, the damage they did –

Iveson put his hand on her arm again. “It upset you?”

“Shouldn’t it?” she shot back, stung into annoyance. Then she closed her eyes again, and nodded. “But we should see what’s happened, shouldn’t we?”

He shook his head. “No. Everyone needed will have been sent for. I think what we need is somewhere I can telephone the Embassy – and buy you a drink.”

 

Julia felt shaken enough to follow him to the nearest still open café, and sat there at the table while he disappeared off to use the phone, and then returned, along with two coffees and a brandy.

She couldn’t quite bring herself to look at him. So many people had been through so much in these last few years and it seemed that much of it had not been ended with the war. She didn’t know what Iveson had done, but he might have seen any number of battles and skirmishes, and here she was over-reacting to gun shots fired out of range because of one incident two years ago. She took the brandy gratefully, though she didn’t make any effort to drink it. “You must think me awfully silly.”

“I hadn’t realised you’d witnessed something of the massacre,” he said. “But I do see.”

Julia swallowed, having to blink back tears, just because he’d understood. “Yes. It was almost the first thing I saw – but I didn’t know till you told me that Rudy was there.”

“I saw something of it,” he said, “but afterwards, making enquiries. I wasn’t there. It’s understandable.”

She turned the glass around in her hands, feeling steadier already. It made a difference that he knew about it without explaining further. “Thank you.”

Iveson drew back, as if shrugging uncomfortably away from her gratitude.

“After all,” she said, taking a sip of the brandy, “I’ve been terrible company. I made you miss the play – and now this!”

He laughed. “No, no. It seems we were in the right place, doesn’t it?”

“What did happen? Was it the theatre?”

Iveson nodded. “The Russian Foreign Minister also left early and someone seems to have taken a shot at him. He’s fine, but a policeman was hurt and so was an unfortunate bystander. Anyway,” he added, “I wasn’t enjoying the play either.”

Julia didn’t like to ask if that was because of his divorce, bad writing, or poor French, so she nodded and smiled at him. “Shouldn’t we go? Don’t you have to be rushed away under armed guard?”

“No, although they will be sending a car shortly. Don’t worry. You’ve time to finish your drink.”

 

By the time the car came, Julia had recovered her self-possession. She stared out of its window as they drove along and refused to think about Berlin, or the fact that this in itself was another echo of that day. She watched the theatre go by, the other attendees now starting to emerge, but there was no sign of the earlier disturbance.

She remembered to be careful, though, and gave Iveson an address that was a short distance away from her apartment. Not that she need worry, she thought, since she hadn’t really managed to do anything anyone could complain about. 

“Miss Graves,” said Iveson, as the car slowed to a halt. “I was wondering – but, no, why should you?”

She turned her head away from the window, back towards him. “If you asked, I could tell you.”

“Yes,” he said, and then leant forward. “We seem to have been unlucky – perhaps a third time would be the charm?”

Julia nearly laughed with surprise. “And what might that involve? We’ve had social humiliation, and now gunfire and alarms –?”

“Miss Graves,” he said. “There is to be a formal affair the day after tomorrow – rather inappropriate in the circumstances, I feel, but –”

She smiled. “A diplomatic evening?” she said. “The Ambassador’s Ball?” 

“More or less. If you were willing to accompany me, I would be grateful.”

Julia looked away again, as the driver opened the door for her. She climbed out, and then looked back inside, only to find Iveson had also left the vehicle.

“Well?” he said. Then he smiled slightly and drew back. “Yes, of course. Forgive me for asking.”

Julia shook her head. “Oh, it isn’t that. I would very much like to go, but it’s impossible. I wouldn’t have anything suitable to wear.”

“Something could be arranged,” he said.

She coloured, annoyed with herself for blurting out the truth; all the more so because no doubt the organisation could have found her something, given the opportunity the invitation presented. _He_ couldn’t, however. That was out of the question. “I don’t think, Mr Iveson –”

“I feel sure,” he said hastily, “that Mrs Morley – the Foreign Secretary’s wife, that is – would be happy to help.”

Julia hesitated, but she couldn’t go back to Simone and explain that she’d turned down an obvious opportunity to pick up information. She also, she knew, underneath it all, simply wanted very much to go to a party. “Oh, but surely it would be a terrible nuisance?”

“I shouldn’t think so,” Iveson said. “I’ll speak to her, and if you call round after you finish your work, she’ll be expecting you.” He fished in his pockets for a card, and wrote down the telephone number.

Julia took it, and smiled. “Then, thank you. I don’t see why not.”

 

Arriving at the British Embassy the next day, Julia worried that Iveson might not have passed the message on, but Elaine Morley seemed to be expecting her.

“I do hope that this isn’t too much trouble,” Julia said. “Mr Iveson seemed to think not, but men sometimes don’t –”

Mrs Morley patted her hand. “Of course not, my dear! No trouble at all, I assure you. I’m only delighted to know that Edward has finally found someone else. It’s about time, if you ask me.”

“I only met Mr Iveson a few days ago,” Julia said hastily, reddening uncomfortably. “Please don’t think – honestly, I’m not even sure why he asked me.”

Mrs Morley shook her head at Julia. “My dear, I understand, but Edward is very careful about such things – naturally.” Then she leant forward, taking Julia’s hand again. “I trust you will be careful, too?”

“Mrs Morley,” said Julia, still red with embarrassment, “I do appreciate your offer to help, but you really mustn’t –”

She ushered Julia further into the room, cutting off her protest. “Yes, yes, of course. I’m being unforgivably interfering. But you do understand why I would be concerned – you do know –?”

“I heard something,” said Julia. Despite her annoyance, she was more than willing to hear the tale if Mrs Morley wanted to oblige. “His wife left him, didn’t she?”

Mrs Morley threw up her hands and sat down on the sofa. “My dear! It was more than ten years ago now, but, yes. Caroline was taking enough in her own way, but terribly young and indecisive. There were two men in the running, you see, and Edward was the more suitable. She married him and then decided that she should have had the other, and that was that as far as she was concerned. Can you imagine? Well, you can see where that left Edward.”

“What did he do?”

“Well, what _could_ one do?” said Elaine Morley. “He gave her the divorce as soon as it could be managed – all the usual sordid business. I suppose he’s lucky it didn’t ruin him, but he was young, and then of course he was indispensable in the war, so I hear. Anyway, Edward simply can’t afford another scandal, and we’re rather fond of him these days – we wouldn’t want to see him hurt again. I’m sure you understand. You have that sort of face.”

Julia wondered what sort of face that would be, but only said, “Oh, yes. I see. And about the dress –?”

“Oh, yes, sorry.” Mrs Morley sprang up from the sofa and beckoned Julia to follow her into the next room, a spare bedroom delicately decorated in pink and grey.

Julia looked at the dresses laid out on the bed and had a sudden flash of a childhood memory, seeing instead her mother’s bedroom, two or three evening gowns thrown down onto the bedspread. She could almost feel under her fingers again the silks and satins, the beadwork and the stiff brocade edgings.

“Now,” said Mrs Morley, “I wasn’t sure which would be best – the ambassador’s wife let me have this, but I think you’re nearer my daughter’s size.”

“And she won’t mind?”

Mrs Morley smiled. “My dear, no. She’s away doing something terribly worthwhile in India. Takes after Crispin, not me. Now, let me think.” She studied the dresses and Julia, glancing between them with one finger to her lips in classic thoughtful pose, and then picked up a grey silk dress. “This one, I think. Try it on.”

It was relatively plain, but Julia recognised the excellence of the cut immediately. The top was fairly fitted and the neck square-shaped with short, plain sleeves. It pulled in at the waist with a belt studded with rhinestones, and then the skirt fell in a loose, draped effect, gathered in at the front with a pleat. She turned to look at herself in the mirror opposite, and caught her breath, seeing for a moment the ghost of her mother, before she blinked and took hold of herself.

“Oh, yes,” said Mrs Morley. “It doesn’t look too bad a fit, either. How does it feel, Miss Graves?”

Julia gave a smile. “Fine. There’s just –”

“Yes,” said Mrs Morley, tugging at it with the air of an expert. “It needs a little taking in here, and the hem letting out. Would you like to try the others on, or shall I pin this for you?”

Julia glanced over at the other two dresses, one light blue, one black, and shook her head. “You may as well pin this. You have an eye for these things, Mrs Morley.”

“Thank you,” she said with a smile. “I’ve always prided myself on it, I have to say. This was never Anne’s colour but I do believe it’s yours.”

 

Julia had to ask Marie, her supervisor in the kitchens in the US Embassy, if she could leave early, and on hearing Julia’s attempts to explain, the woman smiled. “Like Cinderella?” she said, with an expressive gesture at their surroundings. “From here to the ballroom?”

“No, _not_ like Cinderella,” said Julia. “Not in the least!”

Marie laughed. “But however did you manage it?”

“Oh, my parents knew all sorts of people,” said Julia. “Every now and then, one of them remembers me. And I _would_ like to go, if it’s possible.”

“And so you shall – and have a very nice time, I trust!”

 

Once Julia had grown up, ‘going to parties like Mother’ had long since ceased to be an ambition, but she still associated dressing for any sort of formal occasions with Mother. She herself had never had the chance. She’d gone from school into war work, and from that to Berlin in the forlorn hope that she might at least find one of her family still alive, and from there to here, to the kitchens and ineffectual information gathering. So, pulling on the grey dress made her think again of Mother, who had never believed that politics and world events could have any impact on her, until they did.

“Silly, Julia,” she told herself, and concentrated instead on the difficulty of fastening it without assistance, and then on pinning up her hair.

She had one set of Mother’s jewellery she’d kept – it wasn’t worth anything. It seemed to be a copy of an original that Mother or Christy had most likely sold at some point, but it would do. It was simple enough – one small ‘diamond’ on a silver chain and two matching teardrop earrings.

It was a stolen evening anyway you looked at it, and she still hadn’t made her mind up whether or not she would try to justify it by doing what she had been asked. She told herself instead that after tonight, it would all be over, and she would simply tell the organisation that she wasn’t any good at these games.

 

Iveson waited for Julia to step out of the car, and then shut the door behind her before offering her his arm, leading her up the steps.

“How are the talks going?” she asked.

He gave her a wary look.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “It seemed polite to ask.”

Iveson said, “Badly, I fear. And so here we are, celebrating our lack of progress in an overly ostentatious fashion.”

“Mr Iveson,” said Julia, as a uniformed attendant relieved her of her coat, “you’re not going to be gloomy, are you? Whatever may be happening, none of us can do anything about it tonight.”

He smiled. “It would be churlish to criticise? Or merely impolite – impolitic, you think?”

Julia let him lead her on into the grand hall, which seemed to be even more crowded with people than the reception the other evening. “I just want to enjoy the evening. Pretend that nothing is wrong for a little while.”

“Like everyone else,” he said, and then gave her another odd glance she couldn’t interpret as they were introduced to a number of Ambassadors, Foreign ministers, and attachés, one after the other, till Julia felt distinctly relieved to see Elaine Morley and her husband.

Crispin Morley shook her hand and then Iveson’s with enthusiasm. “The lady herself,” he said, with a wide smile for Julia. “My wife was telling me all about you. Said you were quite charming, and I have to agree – and Iveson obviously thinks so!”

“Crispin,” said Mrs Morley, interrupting as Julia’s cheeks flamed red. “It’s good to see you again, Miss Graves, but we must speak to the French Foreign Minister, if you will excuse us.”

Julia and Iveson moved away. She tried to think of what to say to cover the moment, but there was no need, since they were then introduced to yet another diplomat and two members of the press.

“By Jove,” said someone suddenly, from the other side of her, “Miss Graves, did he say? Hanne’s daughter, surely?”

Julia turned to see a large, tall man in his early sixties, who shook her hand even more thoroughly than Crispin Morley had managed. She realised that it was the British Ambassador, Sir Anthony Halesworth. “Yes,” she said.

“Your father was Harold Graves?” he said. “Yes, yes, I can see it. You have a look of both of them. I knew Graves well, and of course we all knew Hanne back in those days. I am so sorry, my dear. I did hear –”

Julia nodded hastily. “Yes. Thank you, sir.”

“I’m sure I saw you, too,” he said, giving her an avuncular smile. “So high, your hair in two tails, and always running around with that brother of yours – I mean to say – I am sorry.”

It was the last thing Julia wanted to talk about, but he meant well, and so she smiled and confessed that she didn’t remember him.

“No, why would you?” he said. “Glad to see you’ve turned out so well, my dear. You do have a look of Hanne – yes, indeed.”

Iveson stepped in. “If you’ll excuse us, Ambassador, I’m afraid I must introduce Miss Graves to one or two others who –”

“Yes, yes,” he said, with a laugh, “of course.”

Julia looked up at Iveson as he led her away. 

“A topic best avoided, yes?” said Iveson, stopping the nearest waiter and handing her a glass of champagne. 

She gave a rueful laugh. “Yes, rather. Although he meant to be kind, and it’s always nice to know that people remember.”

“But not when it might spoil your nice evening,” he said, and though she turned her head, she couldn’t see if he was teasing her or not. He was looking down at his glass of champagne as if he wasn’t pleased with it.

Julia took a sip of hers. “Mr Iveson, you’re not going to disapprove of the champagne as well are you?”

“All things considered,” he said, “it’s a disgraceful waste of money. There are still too many areas across Europe where people are close to starving.”

Julia paused, and reflected that Mr Iveson seemed to be doing her work for her. Really, by the end of the evening, she could just give him the organisation’s details and leave them to get on with each other. “Well,” she said, with a quick smile, “I’ll tell you something – you aren’t going to help by giving them our champagne.”

“Yes, yes,” he said. “I’m being tedious, I’m sure.”

Julia squeezed his arm. “No, no, I do agree. It’s only that I did rather want to enjoy the evening. I’m sure you’ll have many other such occasions to disapprove of, but this may be my only one.”

“I believe there will be dancing soon,” he said, swiftly trying to make amends. “Rather old-fashioned and formal perhaps, but still.”

Julia nodded. “And no doubt terribly wasteful food, too. Thank you for asking me.”

“And I suppose,” said Iveson, “that it wasn’t so different before the war, either.”

“No.”

“Does that make it better or worse?” he asked, as if genuinely curious.

She laughed. “Sorry, but I didn’t dress for philosophical discussions. Only for lights and champagne and dancing, Mr Iveson.”

“I’ll do my best, but these affairs are, er, rather tedious,” he said. “Maybe another time –” Then he caught himself, and looked sidelong at her, awkwardly. “No. I was forgetting.”

“Oh, carry on,” she said. “It fits in perfectly with my pretending. Back in London, you mean? And what do you think will be the event of the Season?”

“God only knows,” said Iveson, making her laugh.

 

There was dancing, later, that was true, though it wasn’t the kind of event she’d imagined her Mother attending. She’d only ever seen these things from the outside, risking hanging over banisters in her nightdress and dressing gown with Rudy to watch the guests arrive, or to watch Mother and Father leave. She had, she realised, had an image in her head of fairy tale balls, and not a prosaic and stiff affair where she was surrounded by middle-aged to elderly politicians and diplomats. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine it wasn’t, but it made following the steps difficult.

“You might want to look where you’re going,” Iveson said when she tried it. He raised an eyebrow. “The view isn’t all that bad, is it?”

She laughed. “No, no, it wasn’t that, I promise. Just – remembering something.”

He shifted his hand on her waist. “Ah, yes, no doubt another occasion when you were with someone you cared rather more for, yes?”

“That,” she said, mock-sternly, “is an unfair question, isn’t it? Although, I suppose I could say yes – I was thinking of Mother again. I am sorry, it’s just – associations.”

He smiled. “Yes, of course.” He glanced at her. “I knew her, too, a little.”

“Sir Anthony said everyone did. It seems he was right,” she said, and as the dance stopped, she let him lead her away from the centre of the room. She was a little relieved to have finished. She hadn’t spent much time thinking about Iveson himself as it would only make what she was trying to do harder still, but she couldn’t avoid it now. He wasn’t what you’d call conventionally handsome, but sometimes caught at certain angles, he gave the illusion of being so, and he had an engaging smile when he stopped being solemn. She had the feeling that she could like him very much, given time.

Iveson ushered her into a quieter corner, beside an open door. “She gave me a toffee apple once, you know,” he said, darting an amused glance at her, as if daring her to laugh.

“A toffee apple?” Julia said, surprised, and did laugh. “I suppose you were very young?”

He looked down at her. “No, fifteen. Too old for such things, but not too old to appreciate it. My aunt had taken me along on a visit and she wanted to give me something, but she’d forgotten how old I was.”

“I can imagine,” said Julia, and smiled. “It sounds like her.”

“You might have been there, too – there was a small child, as well as Christy.”

She looked away, out through the door and into the night. “Probably not me, then. Rudy, I expect.”

“Yes. Sorry.” He shifted his position; awkward again.

Julia lifted her head. She’d had her evening, she’d had her fun, but it wasn’t about that and the memory of Rudy brought that forcibly back to mind. “That’s why I wanted to know,” she said quietly as they moved outside, onto a patio lit with tiny electric lights – another wasteful thing, he’d think, no doubt. “You understand. I want to know what’s going to happen to us all.”

“I wouldn’t know,” he said softly. “I’m merely Mr Morley’s parliamentary secretary – there are any number of things I’m not told. Anyway, none of us ever know that.”

She leant against the wall. “And what little you do know, you couldn’t possibly tell.”

“Yes. Miss Graves –” He took her hand, cutting himself short, and moved outside the door, gently pulling her after.

Julia felt her heartbeat quicken. She could ask him now, she felt sure of it, and then equally sure that she wouldn’t, that she couldn’t. It wasn’t fair, was it? Iveson had remembered her. That was the problem. If she’d taken on either of the strangers Simone had suggested, she wouldn’t have found it so difficult. As it was, it made it unfair – uneven. Not that she wanted to read too much into it – that would be silly – but she couldn’t play with his feelings, however fleeting, for information he might not even have. 

“Miss Graves –” he said, and halted again, almost as if he was deliberately trying to give her the chance she’d been waiting for.

She looked up at Iveson and gave a rueful smile. “Yes, of course. I know. Secrets wouldn’t be secrets if you told somebody. I’m sorry. Anyway, it has been a lovely evening, Mr Iveson, but I will have to go back to work tomorrow, so I’d like to leave now, if you don’t mind.”

“What if I did?” he said, suddenly playful.

Julia directed another glance at him, slightly unnerved. She had the suspicion again that he knew what it was she was after, what she’d chosen not to do, but how could he? “Well, I’m afraid I _do_ need to be at work tomorrow morning,” she said. “Besides, I thought you were disapproving of the champagne, the food, the music –”

“I’d quite forgotten.” 

She laughed. “Well, then I’m glad, but I still would like to go now.”

“Anything you say,” he said, and offered her his arm, leading her back across the main hall, and through to the main doors. She paused there, on the steps outside, catching his arm lightly, one stone step behind him, levelling their respective heights a little.

“Thank you,” she said. “It really was a lovely evening.” She kissed him on the cheek. “Please, do tell Mrs Morley that I shall bring the dress back as soon as I’ve had it cleaned, and that I’m still terribly grateful.”

He nodded, and walked her towards a waiting taxi.

Back to work now, thought Julia, back to ever so dreary reality. 

“Miss Graves,” Iveson said, holding onto the car door. 

She turned her head curiously.

“I was wondering – nothing, nothing,” he said hastily. “A charming evening, yes, thank _you_.” Then he shut the car door and watched it drive away.

 

Julia got up the next morning in a bad temper, and went through the motions of another day. She did the dishes, pushed trolleys about, and served the tea, and listened for secrets nobody was telling. She had the dress cleaned, and then on the following day, she took it back to the Embassy, handing it over to a severe looking maid. There was no sign of the Morleys, or of Iveson, and she felt suddenly cheated, as if she’d stepped out of a story before the ending.

And that was that. Her strange, failed game of espionage was over, as was her attempt at snatching at the edges of a fairy tale, and she was left here, alone. Many of the other people around her would probably consider it heresy if the knew but she longed to be away from Paris now, and to be back in the familiar places of her childhood.

 

On Saturday morning, Julia pushed up the window of her apartment, determined to be more cheerful. It was a sunny day, and she was alive and well enough to enjoy it, and so she would, she promised herself. 

Looking down at the street, she saw a dark car, and then made out a tall figure heading to the door. She shot back inside, alarmed. Mr Iveson! But surely, even if he did know that she had been trying to get information out of him, the fact that she hadn’t tried in the end should hardly warrant his coming after her?

She opened the door even as Iveson reached it. He looked taken aback for a moment, and then gave her a wary smile. “Miss Graves, I hope you don’t mind, but I thought – I – well, may I come in, just for a minute or two?”

“I suppose so,” she said, still worried by this unexpected development. Iveson looked out of place in her little attic apartment – too tall and too business-like in his suit. “But I am going out shortly.”

He nodded. “Yes, yes of course,” he said, sounding distracted. He walked across to the window and looked out of it, and downward at the car in the street, much as she had. She watched him, puzzled. 

“Mr Iveson?” she said eventually. “I assume you do have a reason for coming?”

He turned back around, and gave a slight, embarrassed smile. “Of course. I did – I do. It’s just that I hadn’t quite realised how difficult it would be to say – how unreasonable.”

“Oh, dear,” said Julia. “That sounds quite alarming.” And it did: about the only options she could think of for his coming here were that he was going to ask her to become a double agent or make some even more indecent proposal, and she wasn’t sure she was ready for either. Especially when she didn’t even seem to make a particularly good single agent.

Iveson leant back against the window frame. “Oh, I hope not that bad. You see – well – Miss Graves – no, no –”

Julia raised an eyebrow. “Whatever it is, I suggest you try before I die of curiosity.”

“And I had it all rehearsed in my mind,” he said, ruefully. “You see, Miss Graves, I want to ask you to marry me.”

Julia stared at him, and dropped into the narrow sofa beside her, hardly even registering that she had done so.

“I must sound mad,” he said. “There is a reason, Miss Graves – Julia. Allow me to explain –”

“But I hardly know you!” she said, holding onto the arm of the sofa. “You can’t possibly ask me to _marry_ you!”

Iveson halted on the brink of whatever it was he’d been about to say, and a flash of amusement lit his face. “But I just have, haven’t I?”

“Why?” she asked, blunt in her shock.

Iveson took a deep breath and then cautiously sat on the other end of the sofa. It wasn’t a large one, but he still contrived to leave a careful distance between them. “I won’t pretend to romantic notions,” he said. “At this point in my career, it would be advantageous for me to marry. I thought there might also be advantages for you.”

Julia raised both eyebrows. In cold terms, he was right. After all, he had money, and she didn’t. Plenty of marriages had been based on less. _Even so_ , she thought, and couldn’t keep her disbelief from showing: “And, what, you thought I might do? Or had you tried all the other women you knew already?”

Iveson looked around him, as if hoping to find inspiration somewhere in her small apartment, or perhaps he was just avoiding her gaze. “No, no. Of course not. Oh, God, I’m making more of a mess of it than I feared. It’s only – I enjoyed your company this week, and I thought – well, I thought that perhaps you would like to go home.”

That struck a nerve, hard enough that Julia could have cried. She lifted her head, retreating into anger in response. “Oh? Or did you just think that at least I wouldn’t be able to run away from you?”

He flinched, but only said, “I can’t imagine anything that would you stop you leaving if you chose. You seem very determined.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “That was unfair. But I don’t understand. Why me? I follow your reasons, but if you’re after some sort of political hostess, why should you think I’d be any use? We may have run into one or two people who had fond memories of my mother, but there are plenty who would cut me altogether for the connection.”

He shook his head.

“It’s _true_ ,” said Julia, not so much because it was, but because she was pushing for something more out of him. After all, it was ridiculous to turn up and ask a person to marry him after four days merely because he thought it might be a good idea. So, there must _be_ something more in there. “I’m sorry. I suppose I should thank you and say I’m flattered, but honestly I don’t understand.”

Iveson looked blankly surprised at that, and she nearly laughed. “But I’ve explained” he said. “It was – I should never have said anything.”

“No,” she said, and leaned over to touch his arm. “You’re quite right; there are about a dozen reasons it would be perfectly advantageous for _me_ , at least, lots of people would think so. But not for you. Don’t you see?”

Iveson drew back further. “Yes, I suppose I do, but it would be, I assure you.”

“Yes,” said Julia. “Well, I suppose I can at least say thank you for providing me with one impossible thing shortly after breakfast, then.”

“Well, I have asked,” he said, looking suddenly weary. “Obviously not very well – but will you at least consider it and give me some sort of indication before we leave?”

“Yes, but –”

“I said that I enjoyed your company,” he reminded her. “That is rather important, too, don’t you think?”

Julia got to her feet, the signal for him to do so, too, leading him over to the door. “I will think about it, I promise. If you’re sure you really mean it?”

“Of course,” he said. “And thank you. I wouldn’t have blamed you if you’d called for the porter and had me thrown down the stairs!”

Julia leant her head against the doorpost. “Mr Iveson,” she said. “Before you go, there’s one more thing –” As he turned back, inclining towards her at her words, she stretched up and kissed him, catching at his jacket lapel as she finished and holding on so that he couldn’t easily move away. 

“Well,” she added at his expression, “if I’m going to think about it, then really, you must admit –” She let her sentence trail away, and looked back up at him, waiting for his response, although it had already ceased to be a test because she knew, she knew, he wasn’t going to pull away, that he was going to return the kiss, even if equally awkwardly and briefly, and that gave her at least half the answer to her question.

 

“But it _is_ urgent,” said Julia, on the phone to the pâtisserie, to her contact. “I left an order earlier – it should be ready!”

“In one hour, madame.”

Julia swallowed, and then said, “Thank you.” 

She’d been trying not to think about everything too much, focusing on getting hold of Simone. Now she faced lunch and a conversation about whether or not she should marry a man she barely knew. She kept thinking about him sitting there on the sofa and saying, “I think you would like to go home.” It was hardly a difficult conclusion to come to, but it had been years since anyone had cared enough to try and second guess anything she might or might not want. She thought shock had blurred all her memories of that day in Berlin, but she remembered again him quietly trying to help, though of course he couldn’t.

The first thing was to find out what the organisation thought. Given what they’d asked her, they’d presumably want her to take this chance if she was willing, and so she had an excuse to accept this way out, this ticket home. Did Iveson know that? It didn’t seem possible that he could, but Julia had had the distinct feeling all along that he knew why she had spoken to him. 

Thinking about all these things obscured the other question, the simpler and yet far more complex question: did she want to marry Edward Iveson? She didn’t know him, she wasn’t sure what his motives were for asking, and anyone with any sense would laugh at the idea. It was an arrangement that could lead to trouble for both of them. And yet, if she was honest, her first answer leaned more towards yes than no, and she had no explanation for that, even to herself. She couldn’t imagine, either, even considering such a proposition from anyone else.

 

Simone met Julia in a nearby café. “So, there has been a development?”

“Not information,” said Julia, playing with her glass with her fingers. “It’s a little more unexpected – well, to be perfectly honest, he turned up this morning and asked me to marry him.”

“Is he serious?”

Julia nodded. “He seems to be. He had – reasons. He said it might be a convenient arrangement for both of us.”

“Does he know? What you are?”

“No. Possibly. I don’t know,” she said. “He is sympathetic to our ideals, though, you were right about that.”

“It’s not something we can ask of you,” said Simone, “but if you’re willing, it would be useful. Where you are – well, we can find someone else, someone less likely to be noticed.”

Julia stared again at the glass.

“But of course,” said Simone, “the idea of such an arrangement is naturally distasteful to you?”

Julia bit her lip, and then looked up again. “I can do it. I know I can. And I don’t really know him perhaps – but I do like him.”

“And what does he think of you?”

She smiled to herself. “Oh, now there’s the question.”

“Julie.”

Julia straightened herself. “Well, it may sound vain, but, yes, I think he likes me. More than that, maybe.”

“Then it would be very much to our advantage,” said Simone, pragmatically. “Oh, do not look like that, ma petite, it is only the world we find ourselves in these days. We do too little against it; we must do more. You are only to be eyes and ears for us, nothing worse.”

Julia nodded. “Yes, yes, I know.” And then before she could go home and let anxiety or sanity intervene, she went in search of the nearest telephone to get in touch with Iveson.

 

“I got your message,” he said, standing at her door for the second time that day. He didn’t look any less awkward or out of place this time, either, and he became all the more formal with it. “Am I to understand that you wish to accept my offer?”

She stepped back to let him in. “Yes. But we do need to talk about some things first.”

“Yes,” he said. “Of course.” Then he gestured towards the radio, to her surprise, and said, “May I?” When she nodded, he switched it on. “I don’t suppose anyone would trouble themselves,” he murmured, “but best to be careful.”

She raised an eyebrow. That was a definite indication that he _did_ know what she was, but she said nothing, except, “Would you like tea or coffee?”

“No, no,” he said, and leant back against the wall. “The – er – the paperwork won’t be a problem. I made enquiries.”

Julia watched him. “I hadn’t imagined it would be. I didn’t think you would ask without ensuring that you could follow through.”

Iveson gave a small smile, and she knew she’d earned a hit. “Then what is it? You want – do you want to know about Caroline? My first wife, I mean. There isn’t much to tell; it was all very foolish – painful for both of us at the time, but not –”

“Mrs Morley told me all about Caroline,” said Julia, perching against the sideboard. “You needn’t worry about that – a nice little package of bribery and appeals to my sense of compassion, wasn’t it?”

He started slightly, and then said, “A borrowed dress is hardly a _bribe_. If I had any such intention, I could do better than that. Are you sure you don’t want to turn me down after all?”

“No,” she said. “I mean – I have things to say first.”

He moved across to her. “If this isn’t an acceptable arrangement to you, then you must say no. Much better now than later, believe me!”

She shook her head, looking down.

“I am serious,” he said. “You see, I do know – or I’m almost certain – why someone might put pressure on you to accept, but it can only work if it’s your choice.”

Julia closed her eyes, because that meant there was another reason why her; a reason that wasn’t only that he liked her.

“You recall when we met in Berlin, of course,” he continued quietly. “However, I saw you again, two or three weeks later. Once walking along the street, and another time meeting a woman in a café. I would have spoken to you – I would have liked to speak to you in better circumstances – but I recognised her from files I’d seen.”

“Then why did you even speak to me?” she said. “Why did you turn round that first evening?”

“Because,” he said, and then stopped himself, saying instead: “They’re an admirable group. I support their aims even if I could never join them myself. I would still _like_ to help. You do understand?”

Julia nodded, though she didn’t, because they were probably talking about long-term espionage and maybe treason, and underneath it, whether or not they should marry each other, and who could grasp that so quickly? She felt much less sure about it now than she had at the start of the conversation, although still, she thought, still –

“The talks are over,” he said. “They got us nowhere, in real terms. Britain will not commit herself.”

Julia looked up suddenly. “You’re angry.”

“Who wouldn’t be?” he said, though if that were true, the talks would have progressed further. “As I said, yours is an admirable movement – very necessary in times such as these.” 

Julia was still thinking, because he hadn’t adequately explained some things, and she thought she knew what they added up to: he’d remembered her all that time, to some degree at least. He’d turned around that first day, as if deciding to take advantage of her assignment to see her again. “Then I accept,” she said. “I –”

“Oh, wait,” he said, suddenly fumbling in his jacket pocket, until he produced a small box and held it out to her. “I almost forgot.”

It took Julia far too long to register what it was, and then she drew in her breath. _A ring_. “Oh, but you shouldn’t!”

“It was the best I could do at short notice,” he said. “And, no, no, of course I should. Why shouldn’t I? Won’t people expect it when you tell them?”

She thought about everybody at work, and had to smile. “Well, yes.” She opened the box cautiously. It was more than she expected – more than she felt she deserved at this point – but nothing ostentatious: a plain gold band with a discreet diamond. 

“And I do think, given the circumstances,” he added, “that you would have more need than most for a physical symbol of a promise, don’t you?”

Julia nearly had to blink away tears again, and tried instead to be angry with one or both of them for it. She put it on. It could do with being a fraction tighter, but it wasn’t a bad fit. “Thank you,” she said, rather more stiffly than she intended.

“No, thank you,” he said.

Julia saw ahead an ensuing painfully polite conversation lying ahead, and swerved to avoid it. “When is it you leave?” she asked. “Tomorrow, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” he said. “I am sorry there wasn’t more time.”

She smiled, and shook her head. “No, all I meant was, if you have a few more moments now, and you would like, then we could walk back up to the gardens, perhaps?”

“Yes, of course,” he said, and gave her a bright, relieved smile. “Now?”

Julia took his arm when he offered it at the door, though they then had to go single file down the narrow stairs. At the bottom, by the door, before they stepped out into the sunlit street, Julia paused. “Mr Iveson –”

“Edward,” he said.

She said, awkwardly, “Yes, of course.” Then she took a deep breath and looked up at him again, because if she was really going to go through with this, she should trust him with something, even if it was only this small admission. “I was only going to say – when you said before that I must want to go home – you were right. I do, yes – very much.”


	21. Third Time Lucky (PG, 1949: Edward Iveson/Julia Graves)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward takes Julia to a party at the British Embassy in Paris, for their third/first date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> May/Jun 1949, Edward Iveson/Julia Graves, Elaine Morley. 
> 
> Prompts: Flavour of the Day 21/05/16 (complaisant); White Chocolate #26 (infatuation), Prune #10 (follow your heart) + Cookie Crumbs (remix of one ‘date’ in _The Games We Play_ from Edward’s POV) + Malt – Birthday prompt 2015 ( _Be careful of the curse that falls on young lovers, starts so soft and sweet and turns them to hunters_ from likelolwhat.)

“Mrs Morley,” said Edward, remembering in time to catch her before he and the Foreign Secretary left for the talks again that morning. “Do you have a moment? I’m afraid I need to ask a favour.”

Elaine Morley turned, raising her eyebrows. “Do you now? How intriguing. What is it?”

Edward steeled himself to make the admission: that he had invited a young lady to attend the party at the British Embassy. And that she wanted to come but might have difficulty finding something suitable to wear in time, so he’d rashly told her that Mrs Morley would be happy to help her and now he hoped she could oblige.

“Well, I shall certainly do my best,” she said, giving him a bright smile. “Who is she?”

“A family friend,” said Edward. “I ran into her unexpectedly, so I thought – I thought I’d invite her.”

Elaine laughed. “Wasn’t it only yesterday you were telling me at length how wasteful you thought this affair was? That if we were here to talk about the situation in Europe, we could do it without indecent amounts of food and champagne – and what else was it?”

He shrugged. “Yes. But since I have to attend and I think Miss Graves would enjoy it –”

“Why not, is that it? Well, it’ll be my pleasure to try and help although I can’t promise I’ll succeed at this short notice,” she said. 

Edward gave a relieved smile. “Thank you! I was sure you would, but I was a little worried I’d over-stepped the mark.” He hesitated, wondering whether or not to say anything more, and then he felt he must. “She’s been through a lot – she lost everyone in the war. Please be kind to her – this was entirely my suggestion, believe me.”

“I’ll try not to eat her, then,” said Elaine, with a glint of amusement in her eyes, evidently coming to exactly the conclusion he’d known she must. “I must say, though, I’m glad, Edward. It really is about time you found someone else.”

Edward felt the heat on his cheeks and began to protest that it wasn’t like that, and that she mustn’t say anything of the sort to Miss Graves, before giving up. He wasn’t even sure if he knew what his own motives were, let alone trying to explain them to anyone else. It was simple, in one way: he felt guilty about abandoning Julia Graves in Berlin. He’d worried too much about liking her, about whether or not he would be taking advantage of her grief and loneliness if he called on her and, instead, as it had proved, he had left her to be preyed on by a pressure group like United Europe – people who had no such scruples about playing on her feelings over her brother’s death, however laudable their ultimate aims. 

It also wasn’t in the least bit simple: she was only speaking to him – the man who’d broken that awful news to her – because United Europe wanted her to get information about the talks out of him. Edward wasn’t sure what they thought he could give him, but he’d worked in Intelligence himself during the war and he’d seen enough people go down this path; too many to render it anything other than folly to tread it himself, to imagine he was different from the rest. Edward hesitated at the top of the main staircase, taking the time to admit to himself that the truth was even more dangerous: in his heart of hearts, he believed that _Julia_ was different. What happened, he wondered, if she went further than he believed she would? Or was that what he wanted, why he was giving her every opportunity to try – only a selfish wish to see her again, to get everything he could out of her before he left her here? She wouldn’t ever have sought him out without this, he knew that. He’d seen her face when she’d looked at him that first evening and had no doubt that without her current orders, he’d have remained only death’s messenger in her eyes.

 

If this was a game of espionage they were playing, then Edward had made a serious tactical error already in arranging a dress, he realised, waiting for Miss Graves on the steps as she got out of the cab. She gave him a nervous smile and took his arm, but Mrs Morley had either been lucky in finding the right dress, or she was more of a miracle-worker than he’d given her credit for. It was a grey silk that he’d never have imagined for Julia, but which suited her perfectly and brought out unexpected lights in her eyes. He felt his heart flip over and felt even less certain of his position. Wild thoughts he’d had in the night of somehow belatedly rescuing her by proposing a marriage of convenience seemed suddenly worryingly logical.

“How are the talks going?” she asked, at his side, bringing him back to the reality of the situation, although it was hardly what anyone could call a subtle approach. When he looked at her, she coloured and said hastily that it had only seemed polite to ask.

Edward led her in and immediately began unromantically expounding on how unnecessary and expensive this whole evening was when the talks weren’t going especially well. He couldn’t seem to stop himself; his nerves finding an outlet in complaining about the pointlessness of it all.

“I just want to enjoy the evening,” said Julia, when she got the chance, in between introductions and Edward’s critical comments. “Pretend that nothing is wrong.”

Everything was wrong, thought Edward, watching her. They shouldn’t be in this situation. It would be arrogant to assume that he could automatically have stopped her joining the organisation, but he could at least have tried. He could have seen her back to England and safety, and maybe even if he’d been lucky enough, have had the pleasure of escorting her to a party without an agenda on both sides. At the least, she needn’t be trapped here in Paris, where there were already strong rumours of unrest and violent incidents in the streets.

Julia caught his look, but turned her head away, her expression unreadable.

 

“Mr Iveson,” she said later, at his side, giving him a full smile; her reserve almost entirely forgotten at this point of the evening. “Do you mind dancing again, or shall we sit this one out?”

Edward held out his hand to her. He hadn’t danced so much at any occasion in years, possibly ever, but if he was giving her this evening, then he wasn’t going to turn her down in anything unless he must. He certainly wasn’t in any hurry to deny himself the chance to be this close to her, either. 

“Are you enjoying the evening?” he asked, as he took her hand and put his arm about her, readying them for the next dance. He cocked an eyebrow and smiled at her, causing her to give a slight laugh as she looked up at him. 

She didn’t say anything in response; she merely nodded in response and shifted herself in his hold as the dance began.

“I’m glad,” he said. That much was true. If all he could do was give her one evening, then he wanted it to be a good one, even if it was also over-full of pompous, aging politicians and diplomats. She deserved so much more, but he had to remind himself that it wasn’t his business and never would be. 

He didn’t believe she was going to try and persuade him to part with diplomatic secrets, not any more. If she had been serious about it, she wouldn’t have walked away from him on the first evening at the U. S. Embassy. It was he who had approached her the second time and invited her to try again. She would have simply have gone, either back to her work, or on to the next name on her list, if she had one. Whatever she was doing here wasn’t about that – so he believed. But, he thought, if he was wrong, if he was deluding himself as others had before him, if she did try to seduce him for her cause, then he knew now that there was only one thing he could do in response: he’d be grateful.


	22. Family Gossip (G, 1949: Edward Iveson, Nancy Long, Isabel Andrews, Daisy Long, Amy Long)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward has some unexpected news for the rest of the family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> June 1949; Nancy Long, Isabel Andrews, Daisy Long, Amy Long, Anne Long, Ted Long, Edward Iveson.
> 
> Prompts: Peach #5 (live and let live)
> 
> Notes/Warnings: Brief references to divorce.

“Nancy,” said Edward on the other end of the telephone. “I wanted to let you know before I told the others, but I’m engaged.”

“As what?” Nancy said and only then, at his silence, realised what he meant. “Congratulations, I should say!”

Edward gave a cough. “And that weekend I arranged in Kent – that was why I wanted us all to be there. We’re getting married on that Saturday.”

“Is this an undercover operation?” said Nancy, beginning to realise exactly why he was telling her this over the phone instead of in person. _The coward._ “Should you be mentioning it on an open line?”

“There’s no need to be flippant. It isn’t a joke.”

“Well, if you want me to take you seriously, you shouldn’t ring up and tell me you’ve already invited me to your wedding by stealth. Especially when it’s in two weeks and I don’t have a clue who you’re marrying!”

Edward sounded shifty now. Nancy wished again that she could get her hands on him. “Yes, well, I am sorry about that. I’ll explain when I see you. And her name’s Julia – Julia Graves – Hanne Graves’s daughter. You remember Hanne?”

Nancy did recall Hanne and if she stopped and dredged through her memory, she could also picture a six year old with fair pigtails and a cheerful disposition. A brief calculation informed her that, impossible as it might seem, that must have been at least twenty years ago.

“Yes, I do remember Hanne,” she said, “but I don’t understand the rest of it. Is she on the run, or are you? I assume one of you must have committed a crime to warrant this kind of secrecy and haste.”

There was another slight pause, and Nancy thought she had probably irritated him, but that was his fault for being ridiculous and expecting her to behave as if he was being reasonable.

“Would you believe I was getting rather superstitious?” said Edward. “Considering what happened last time.”

It was a plausible explanation, but Nancy had a suspicion that was all it was. He hadn’t said it _was_ the case, avoiding both the truth and lying to her – they simply didn’t lie to each other. “Well,” said Nancy, “congratulations again – and believe me, I am looking forward to hearing your explanation.”

 

“Isabel,” Nancy said, as soon as she’d put the telephone down, forgetting that she had been warned not to interrupt her until she had her last chapter written. “Edward’s getting married!”

Isabel looked up, only slowly emerging from her fictional kingdom. “Oh, is he? Your cousin? Who to?” She paused, and then conscientiously corrected herself: “To whom, I mean.”

Nancy folded her arms, leaning back against the door. “To the daughter of an old family friend that, as far as I knew, none of us had seen in donkey’s years. And the date is set for that weekend we’re all going to Mum and Dad’s – the weekend after next.”

“Good heavens,” said Isabel, raising her eyebrows. “I see what you mean. That is unexpected.”

Nancy straightened herself. “Unexpected? I always know when Edward is seeing someone – and it’s hardly like him in any case. Do you know how long it took for him to say anything to Caroline? I’m not sure I didn’t have to ask her out for him!”

“Well, maybe that’s the sort of comment he was trying to avoid,” said Isabel. “And I grant you, it is very odd – but, Nan, please for the love of God can it wait until I’ve found a way to get my pair here off this wretched little island? I’ve finally had an idea and I mustn’t lose it.”

Nancy bit back frustration. “Oh, yes. Sorry, love. I just – well, I can understand why he telephoned, the rat! I’ve half a mind to go over there and shake him!”

“Yes, do,” said Isabel immediately. “Go at once and take as long as you like!”

Nancy laughed. “Yes, all right. I shall leave you in peace – and Ned, too. It is his business, after all, not mine. It was just a shock. I really do hope he knows what he’s doing. Or,” she added, lines of concern forming on her forehead, “what it is _she’s_ doing.”

 

“Of course I’m very pleased to hear it,” said Anne Long to her husband Ted, on being told the news. “He ought to have remarried years ago, but I suppose – well, the war complicated a lot of things.”

Ted pushed his chair back from the kitchen table and carried his cup and saucer over to the sink. “I sense a ‘but’ there.”

“Well, it _is_ odd,” said Anne. She refused to elaborate further, since nobody else needed to know that she’d spoken to Edward about this very subject only two or three months ago. He had said that Mr Morley and Mr Harding kept telling him it would be better for his prospective political career if he was married, and she had offered to invite him more often to any gathering she might host, if she’d invited somebody suitable. If he had already been seeing someone, then why on earth had he agreed? And if he hadn’t been, then how could he possibly be getting married so soon?

Ted shrugged. “It’s his business, you know. It’s not as if he needed to even tell us, if he’d wanted. Anyway, I thought you’d liked the girl’s mother.”

“Oh, yes. Very much,” Anne said, gathering up the ironing, still a little distracted by her reasoning. “I shall be so glad to see Julia again. But it is very odd, and even you can’t pretend it isn’t.”

He headed for the door. “Well, make sure you keep that thought to yourself when they’re here.”

“You know I would never be so insensitive,” said Anne. “It’s only that I do wonder – well, if it’s some sort of arrangement, rather than a love match and I don’t like the thought of that. Not for Ned.”

Ted disappeared out of the door and left her to worry about it alone.

 

Amy Long arrived at Edward’s with a box full of odds and ends. When Edward answered the door, she handed it over and followed him in as he looked about for somewhere to put it. “Hello,” she said. “It’s for you – and there’s another in the car, but it’s a bit heavier, so maybe you could go and fetch it in.”

“What is all this?” said Edward, dumping it on the sofa in the living room. He poked around inside it and pulled out an angular vase, studying it in bemusement. “Did I miss a message from you?”

Amy paused and thought for a moment. “Oh, dear – did I not say that bit on the telephone? I thought I had. Look, go and fetch the other and I’ll explain.” 

Edward disappeared and Amy walked to the window to watch his progress, glancing about the house. Edward had rented it out for years and she’d been quite young last time she was here. She frowned, trying to remember when and why that would have been, and failed.

“I thought that car had had it,” said Edward, returning and putting down the larger box beside the other.

Amy turned. “Dad had a go at it and coaxed it back to life. You know he’s always been fond of the old thing.”

“Well, but be careful getting back again, won’t you?” said Edward. “And now, dare I ask, what is all this in aid of? Are you volunteering me to host a jumble sale?”

Amy laughed. “Don’t be silly. I just thought that there must be a whole lot of things you won’t have yet, and of course you couldn’t buy them right now because Julia will want to choose her own, and there will be wedding gifts – so I brought this lot up. Anything you don’t want, just donate it to somebody, or let me know, and I will.”

“Wedding presents?” said Edward, as if she’d talked of something much more alarming. “Good God, no! I’m not expecting anything – tell everyone not to bother.”

“People will,” said Amy. “You can’t stop them. Best to ask for some things that would be particularly useful. With the short notice and the small number of guests, it shouldn’t be too terrible for you.”

Edward shook his head. “No, no. I don’t want anything! I think there are things from last time up in the attic, and I don’t see –”

That got Amy’s attention. She straightened instantly and didn’t wait for him to finish. “Ned! You don’t mean that, do you?”

“Well, of course I do. The whole point of keeping this quiet is to avoid all that kind of fuss and nonsense.”

Amy fixed him with a stern look, as he was clearly missing the point. “Ned. You haven’t really still got wedding presents in the attic, have you?”

He hesitated, and then gave a nod. “Just a box with a few odd things. Most of it I either gave to Caroline when she left – the things from her people, or that she had chosen – and the rest I let go with the house, but there were some things we put up there at the start to save for later – a tea set, I think, and a table cloth and some other bits and pieces. I never really thought about it again.” 

“Then either get them down and put them in with the rest of your things, or let me take them!” said Amy. “Honestly, Ned! Even I would find that odd. What would you say to Julia when she found them?”

“There wouldn’t be any reason for her to be up there.”

“Of course there would,” said Amy. “It will be her house, too – why on earth wouldn’t she go in the attic sometimes? Now, take me up there and let’s have a look. Otherwise it’d all end up being like something out of a terrible gothic novel, and you don’t want that. It’s not even as if you live in a castle.”

Edward unbent a little and laughed. “I don’t think it’d be as bad as all that, but, yes, please, do take them, if they’re there. I certainly don’t want them.”

“If it’s a nice tea set,” said Amy, “I could give it to the vicar’s wife to raffle for the Children’s Fund. She’d be thrilled. She was complaining the other day that she didn’t have anything worth the price of entry.”

Edward grinned, “Oh, well, that’s all right then, isn’t it?” 

As they made their way upstairs to the top floor, Amy took the opportunity to ask, “What’s she like? Your fiancée – Julia? Nice, I hope.”

Edward smiled. “Oh, very nice, but I’m probably biased.”

“Pretty?” said Amy, and wished she’d not asked when she was two steps behind him, so that she could have seen his face.

“Yes. I think so, anyway – but it’s an inadequate way to describe her,” he said. “You’ll see when you meet her.”

Amy caught up with him as he waited for her on the landing and put her hand on his arm. “Never mind the others. They’re only worried, you know, because of last time – but that’s nonsense. Father still asks me if I know the way when I drive into town because of that time I got lost. And that was once, ten years ago! Ignore them all, I should. Dad says if you’re not old enough to know your own business by now there’s no hope for you.”

“Thank you,” said Edward. “Although I don’t think I can quite ignore everyone yet – first I have to see Aunt Daisy.”

 

Daisy Long refrained from saying anything until she’d supplied Edward with tea and hunted out a tin of shortbread. It wasn’t her business what Edward did, of course, but since he’d clearly come to tell her about it, she would admit to being curious – and, yes, a little less hurt at his odd secrecy over the issue.

“So,” she said, settling herself down in the narrow, upright armchair. “What is all this about?”

Edward concentrated on the shortbread. “Where exactly did you find this, and how old is it?”

“If you don’t want it you needn’t eat it,” said Aunt Daisy, dealing with that diversionary tactic in exactly the manner it deserved. “I take it you’ve come to tell me about this tale about getting married in two weeks? What has got into you?”

Edward glanced up, his expression carefully bland. She knew that look well. “It’s all very simple. I’ve met someone I want to marry, and I’m going to marry her.”

“Well, if that was all you had to say, you needn’t have bothered coming down here.” Daisy paused. “Not that I’m not always pleased to see you, of course.”

Edward gave a slight, guilty grin. “Yes, true.”

“Did you get the girl pregnant?” 

Edward choked on his shortbread, and then shot her a reproachful glance. “No, I didn’t. Honestly! Nancy asked that, too.”

“Well, if you get married in an indecent haste, what do you expect people to think?”

Edward leant back in the chair. “Frankly, I’m beginning to wish I’d got on and eloped instead.”

“Listen,” said Aunt Daisy. “You’re more than old enough to sort your own affairs by now – or if you aren’t, there’s no hope for you! I merely think a sensible explanation of some sort shouldn’t be too much to ask for.”

Edward held up his hands. “Yes, all right. The truth is that perhaps I haven’t been seeing Julia that long – but it’s not as sudden as it might seem. I met her when I was out in Germany, nearly two years ago. It wasn’t the moment – things didn’t work out – and I never mentioned it, because I thought that was the end of it. I hoped otherwise, and I even told Mother, if you want to know, but I knew it was only wishful thinking. Then I ran into Julia again in Paris and I couldn’t let the chance go by again, or leave her there for long. There’s a lot of unrest over there at the moment and she’s already had enough trouble to deal with. On top of that, she doesn’t exactly have anyone much left – a few distant relatives she can’t stand, from what I gather. So, I didn’t want a big affair with all my relatives, and her side all but empty – even aside from the other issue of my divorce ruling out a church wedding anyway.”

“Why didn’t you say that to the others?”

Edward leant forward again. “So much of it is Julia’s affair, so it’s up to her whether she wants people to know all the details. But you won’t make a fuss, or ask too many questions, I know that.”

“Thank you,” said Aunt Daisy. “And this girl – this Julia –?”

Edward looked up. “None of it is her fault. I need you all to be kind to her – she’s been through too much lately, and I wanted –”

“I should hope none of us would be unkind,” said Aunt Daisy. “That wasn’t what I was asking. It’s only that is if this is some kind of pragmatic arrangement between you two, it’s your business, but that’s something you should both think long and hard about before you do anything irrevocable.”

Edward gave a smile. “Ask Julia that, if you’re worried,” he said. “For me, I’m doing exactly what I want to.”

“Well, in that case,” said Aunt Daisy, “I wish you both very happy. Congratulations, Ned. I must say, it’s well past time, if you ask me.” 

And even though it _wasn’t_ her business and she _didn’t_ have any mind to interfere with his affairs, she nevertheless felt highly relieved to hear it.


	23. Notes & Queries (PG, 1949: Edward Iveson/Julia Graves, Amy Long, Daisy Long, Nancy Long, Ted Long)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julia is going to marry a man she hardly knows, and she can’t seem to worry about it as much as she ought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1949: Edward Iveson/Julia Graves, Julia meeting Edward's family. Follows on from _The Games We Play_.
> 
> Prompts: Chocolate #1 (loyalty/trust), Papaya #10 (why me?) + Brownie, Malt (Relationship Prompt #2 – confession of feelings).
> 
> Notes/warning: loss/grief.

Julia didn’t know how a person was supposed to feel about marrying a virtual stranger in what was technically a marriage of convenience, but mostly she had to admit she was almost gleeful at being able to hand in her notice, and to think of leaving her cramped, solitary apartment. She walked through some of the most beautiful areas of Paris in summertime and only ungratefully longed to return to London.

She cleared out her belongings and found there wasn’t much to take with her: most of the furnishings came with the apartment. She hadn’t intended to stay when she came out to Berlin – she’d hoped rather to bring Rudy home with her, but that had not been possible. So, other than some clothes and the few mementos she’d kept with her, she sold anything else and put what little it made towards buying a second-hand wedding dress she worked on altering – she’d go to Iveson with that much, she’d decided – and the train ticket to Calais.

Which was all very well until the night before she was due to leave, when she found herself waking in fear, the reality finally impossible to ignore. What was she thinking? What did she actually know about Edward Iveson? What kind of man would ask a stranger to marry him based on little more than four days’ acquaintance and a trip to a mortuary? What kind of person must she be to even think of accepting? 

She wondered what her father would have thought, and couldn’t imagine. Mother, on the other hand, Julia thought, smiling in the midst of her last minute panic, would have seen nothing wrong in it. If Iveson was willing to offer her a life that was more to her taste, Mother would have thought that reason enough to take him up on it. Julia lay back down and wondered if she was more like her mother than she’d thought until now. She didn’t know if that was comforting or not. Mostly not, she decided, and then worried instead that she was, unbeknown to herself, merely terribly mercenary at heart.

 

It was still early when the train pulled into Calais on a surprisingly grey July morning, and she went to alight, half-awake and wondering what to do next, when suddenly Mr Iveson was there, helping her down from the carriage.

“Julia,” he said, taking her suitcase, and then looking down at it with a frown. “Is that all?”

She nodded, and then shook herself. “I thought you wouldn’t be here till later.”

“It turned out I could get an earlier ferry,” he said. “I must confess, I was nervous. I was wondering if you would turn up.”

Julia laughed, because she’d had the same fear on the train: what if he wasn’t there? What if it was some game to him, and there she was, left in Calais, with no home and no job? And she’d told herself, that if it came to that, she’d simply have to go on, take the ferry and make a nuisance of herself to a relative or old school friend until she could find something else.

“I’m here,” she said, and gave a rueful smile. “I burned all my bridges rather.”

Iveson halted outside the station, and for a long moment, they stood there and looked at each other, until Julia eventually said, “Well? What now?”

“Oh,” he said. “It’s a while till we have to be on the ferry. Would you like a drink, or a walk around?”

She accepted the offer of a drink and they went in search of a café.

 

Armed with what was supposed to be a hot chocolate, but tasted rather odd (it had been optimistic to order it, really), Julia looked across at Iveson, examining with suspicion a cup of what probably wasn’t exactly coffee, either.

“You can still change your mind,” he said. “When we get back to England, you can find something else – I’d be happy to help –”

Julia shook her head. He’d said that in his letters, too, and she wished he wouldn’t. She preferred thinking of it as something that was already set in stone. If it wasn’t, common sense said she should back out. She didn’t feel much like being sensible, that was all. 

“No, no,” she said, and then wondered exactly what he thought of her for being so ready to accept. The words _fortune hunter_ came into her mind too swiftly, and she turned red. “That is,” she added, feeling intensely awkward, “as long as you haven’t changed your mind.”

“Oh, no,” he said immediately, and then looked about as embarrassed as she felt.

Julia blew on the hot chocolate, and then looked up in sudden amusement. “Of course, if it’s always going to be this awkward, I probably should.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I suppose it wasn’t the best way to start a conversation, but I’d hate to think that –”

Julia smiled. “I promise if I change my mind before the marriage ceremony, I shall say so. Even if it means running away from the altar.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” he said, sounding solemn, but she thought he was amused. It was hard to tell, and she supposed that was one of those things she was going to have to learn. Then he coughed. “I did explain the arrangements in my letters, didn’t I? We’ll go from Dover to the Quentins’, and you’ve got nearly a week to –”

“Change my mind,” she finished for him. “So you keep saying.”

Iveson put his hand to his head. “Yes, of course. Sorry. It’s only – it all sounds very unromantic, doesn’t it?”

Julia stared down at the ring on her finger and tried to hide her smile before she looked back up again. “But that’s the idea, isn’t it? That’s what you said. Purely a matter of convenience on both sides. What on earth would romance have to do with it?”

“Yes, I suppose,” he said, watching her uncertainly. “And it’ll be the register office, of course. I hope –”

Julia nodded. “I understand.” His divorce would make a church wedding out of the question, even if the circumstances weren’t so odd. “One thing, though. What have you told your relatives? We should get our stories straight, shouldn’t we?”

“Stories?” said Iveson and looked alarmed again, before collecting himself. “Oh, yes. Yes, of course.”

Julia was fighting the urge to laugh, though that was mostly due to nerves. “Well, unless you plan to tell them it’s a marriage of convenience with someone you happened to run into in Paris. Someone you had particular reason not to trust, too.”

“I merely said that I was bringing my fiancée,” he said. “I would hardly go into detail on the telephone. I suppose Amy is bound to ask.”

Julia said, “Well, yes, I would think anyone would! Who are they, anyway? Cousins, did you say?”

“Yes, on my mother’s side.”

Julia had studied the organisation’s sparse notes on Edward Iveson, enough to know that both of his parents were dead, too. Probably now wasn’t the best time to ask about that, so she merely said, “Who else should I expect to meet?”

“Well, only Amy and her husband – Matthew Quentin. Mostly likely Amy’s parents at some point, and her sister Nancy – and of course, Aunt Daisy.”

Julia rested her chin on her hands. “Oh, of course,” she echoed mockingly. “Well, on the ferry, you’ll need to tell me who everyone is before I make a fool of myself, won’t you?”

“If you have relatives – if you would prefer to go to them – or invite them –?”

Julia shook her head. “Oh, no. Well, yes, I do. But only an uncle and a couple of great-aunts on my father’s side, and I’d really rather not see any of them again unless I have to.”

“I see,” said Edward. He gave a small, sympathetic quirk of his mouth, and then said, “I have a stepfather I don’t see if I can help it.”

“A wicked one?” she asked, as they got up to leave.

He shook his head. “Well, not as such. Just a very odd man, I suppose. He disliked being reminded of my existence quite intensely, so these days I return the favour. It’s an old story.”

“I’ll hear about it later on, I expect?” she said.

Iveson shrugged. “I’d imagine so.”

“From you,” she said, catching at his sleeve. “There’s a lot we’ll both need to learn, don’t you think? You will have to tell me.”

He stopped outside the doorway, looking at her for a minute, as if struck, and then, to her surprise, kissed her on the forehead, before taking her hand to go and catch the ferry. 

 

After Paris, with its constant movement and crowds and its war scars, a small village in Kent seemed almost unreal, like something out of a storybook version of England. The Quentins’ house was just outside the village, probably once a large farmhouse. Julia was relieved, as for the last few miles, it had struck her to worry that it might be something grand, like a manor house.

Amy Quentin turned out to be only a few years older than Julia. She wore her brown hair loose and was dressed in clothes that were far more comfortable than fashionable, though she had a wide, ready smile and a lively manner that would prevent anyone from using the word dowdy to describe her.

“Well,” she said, on showing Julia into her room. “Here we are! And, now, are you going to tell me the story? Because all Ned will do is act as if returning from some terribly serious international conference with an unknown fiancée is perfectly normal. Which I’m sure it isn’t.”

Julia laughed, as she opened her small suitcase on the bed.

“Of course,” Amy continued, before she could answer, “I don’t want to scare you, and Ned did say not to bombard you with questions, so you can ignore me. But Ned’s first marriage was such a disaster that we all can’t help holding our breath a bit over this one. I haven’t made you cross, have I?”

Julia shook her head. “It’s perfectly natural. I understand. And it wasn’t as sudden as all that. We met in Berlin about eighteen months ago, but we lost touch. Then we ran into each other again in Paris – and it all happened from there.”

“Oh, I see,” said Amy, moving across to the door. “I don’t know why he wouldn’t say, but then he never does. Is everything all right?”

Julia started slightly, and turned. “What?”

“Everything,” said Amy, with a nod at the room. “I put out towels, and I don’t think I forgot anything but –”

Julia tried not to laugh too much at her guilty overreaction. “Oh, yes, yes, it’s lovely, thank you.”

“And when you’ve unpacked and washed, lunch will be ready,” said Amy, and then gave her a smile. “Jolly good. I’ve decided I’m going to like you.”

“Oh, well, thank you,” said Julia, blinking at the abruptness of the statement, but she was too late; she was speaking to a closed door.

 

After lunch, Edward caught Julia in the hallway. “Would you like to go for a walk? I can show you about.”

“That would be very nice,” she said, and then gave his arm a conspiratorial pat. “And very useful for talking, too.”

A look of relief crossed his face. “Yes,” he said, leaning forward and lowering his voice. “Even Matthew was asking, and I really had no idea – what is it?”

Julia laughed, falling back against the wall, unable to stop. “Well, did you really think that they wouldn’t?”

“A walk?” he said rather more stiffly, and she nodded, hoping she hadn’t offended him, before running upstairs to find more suitable shoes.

 

Outside, walking along a narrow, twisting lane lined with hedgerows, Julia told him that Amy had already been asking her questions, and he’d immediately started apologising for his relatives.

“Well, what did you expect them to do?” she said. “Amy’s been very nice, but I should think they’re worried. You go away for the talks and come back engaged to someone they know nothing about. It’d be very odd if they weren’t at least a bit concerned that I might be some horrid designing female –” Julia paused and reflected. “Perhaps I am?”

“Don’t be silly,” said Edward. “Hardly. I’m the one who made the suggestion.” 

He led her then along a footpath leading away from the lane – in one direction it wandered into some woods, in another it wound its way up a small hill. They took the upward path, and when they got to the top, they sat down in the shade of some trees and looked at the view.

“And now,” said Julia, lazing back in the grass on her elbows, “I want to know more about you before your family decides I’m a fraud. Come on, you know all there is to know about me.”

Edward looked across at her. “That’s not true.”

“Near enough,” said Julia. “Which is very unfair.”

“I expect you had some sort of file when they put you onto me.”

Julia shook her head. “Only a handful of notes on the back of a copy of a photograph. It’s not like being in the government, you know.”

“There’s not much to tell,” said Edward. “Nothing very dramatic. My father was a fairly successful businessman – he had a paper manufacturing company, but later he used I think to buy smaller or failing businesses to sell on. Unfortunately, he contracted malaria when he went out to Uganda to oversee one of his newer concerns. He recovered and came back home, but it recurred and apparently he had complications with his liver – something like that. I’m not entirely sure. I was eleven at the time.” 

“And that was when your mother married this very odd man?”

Edward nodded. “Mr Taylor. As far as I know, he was all right to her in other ways, but he simply wouldn’t hear of any acknowledgement of her previous marriage –”

“But what did she say? She couldn’t have been happy about that,” Julia said, and then caught herself, colouring. She didn’t want to sound as if she was judging his mother. “I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. “Well, no, but she –” He hesitated. “I don’t know. She saw me when she could, and, of course, once I was an adult, no one could stop us meeting occasionally, but he would never have me in the house if he could help it, and she wouldn’t –” He stopped again. “Anyway, I was away at school most of the time.”

“Hideously bullied, of course?”

“No.”

Julia laughed. “Oh, and I thought they were all supposed to be dreadful.”

“Well, what about your school?” he countered.

She raised an eyebrow at him. “You see, you have been looking me up, haven’t you?”

“I didn’t look you up,” he protested. “When you came out to Berlin, they put together a file on you.”

Julia looked ahead again, taking in the view: fields, farms, what must be part of the nearby village, all lying under a blue sky brushed with light clouds. “Oh,” she said. “And that’s when you failed to include the fact I’d been seen meeting with someone from United Europe?”

“Yes.”

Julia sighed slightly, because it did bring everything back to being terribly unromantic again, and she’d been doing quite well at pretending otherwise. “Oh, well, thank you again.”

 

He stopped speaking then, long enough for her to drift off for a while, as she discovered when she woke back up again, spots of sunlight disturbing her through the leaves above. She sat up abruptly, and couldn’t see him for a moment, resulting in an irrational moment of panic, as if he’d brought her out into the countryside to abandon her in some odd variation on Hansel and Gretel. He was still there, however, only standing further over at the edge of the hilltop. When he turned and saw her awake, he walked back over.

“I am sorry,” she said, looking up sheepishly as he reached her. “I caught a _very_ early train this morning, you know.”

Edward laughed, and sat back down beside her. “And after professing to be so interested in my life story!” He shook his head in mock solemnity.

“I said I was sorry,” she said. It was sunny, she thought, and the train _had_ been early this morning, and it was peaceful here – she’d felt safe in a way she hadn’t for a very long time. It was a disconcerting realisation.

Edward looked at her for a long moment, evidently hesitating over something he wanted to say.

“Well?” said Julia, arching an eyebrow. Last time he’d seemed that uncertain, he’d proposed, so she couldn’t help feeling wary about what he might come out with now. “There’s something you want to ask, isn’t there?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“It is, rather.”

He sighed, and said, “I don’t wish to pry or to sound – but I do need to ask. Julia, is there anyone else?”

“Anyone else where?” she asked, still a little slow from waking, and then she caught his meaning. “Oh,” she said, colouring. “Oh, no. Honestly. Not now, and never anyone serious. I promise. My agreeing had nothing to do with anyone else, not like that.” There’d been Michael Campbell, who’d been a soldier stationed nearby during the war, but that had merely been an infatuation that ended in a cliché, like one of those warning fables about men wanting only one thing. Michael had lied about a lot of things for terribly predictable reasons. Julia preferred to think of it now more as an education than a relationship.

Edward looked relieved. “I shouldn’t have asked, except –”

“No, it’s a perfectly reasonable question,” said Julia. “That’s not what this is about for you, is it? You’re not still in love with her, are you? With Caroline?”

He gave her a blank look of surprise. “No, no.” Then he gave a wry smile and said, “No. I’m not sure now that I ever was.”

“Good,” said Julia. “So, where were we? You were taken in by your Aunt Daisy, isn’t that right?”

Edward got to his feet and then leant back down to give her a hand up. “We really should go back now.”

“Oh, gosh,” said Julia, glancing at her watch before letting him help her up. “Oh, no. Was I asleep all that time?”

Edward offered her his arm, as they set back off down the hill. “It _was_ a very early train, I understand,” he said, solemnly, and she had to laugh.

 

Amy and Matthew Quentin continued to be friendly hosts, and the next day passed relatively painlessly, even enjoyably, but the thing Julia found herself most nervous about was meeting Aunt Daisy. It was clear from what little Edward had said that she mattered a great deal to him, so no doubt her good opinion would be invaluable.

“So who is coming?” she asked Edward, catching him out in the garden before everyone else was due to arrive for dinner.

He glanced at her. “Still only Aunt Daisy and Amy’s sister Nancy and their parents, Uncle Ted and Aunt Anne. And you are still definitely not on the menu and they are not going to eat you.”

“Thank you,” she said. “I didn’t really think they were.” Although, in another sense, she thought she must very definitely be on the menu. She sighed, and reminded herself that their interest was perfectly natural, and it was only her guilty conscience over agreeing to this arrangement that was the problem. 

 

The meal didn’t go as she’d hoped, but that wasn’t the fault of Edward’s family. Whatever they thought, the Longs and the Quentins were only being friendly and polite to her face. Even Edward’s Aunt Daisy, though she looked rather severe at first, didn’t turn out to be a Lady Catherine who would take her to task for daring to marry her nephew. The difficulty, when it came, was all Julia’s.

“Julia and I are going to town tomorrow,” Amy said. “Ned, you have sorted out about her ration book, haven’t you?”

Edward looked up, almost guiltily, but then nodded. “It shouldn’t be a problem.”

“That never sounds all that reassuring somehow,” said Amy, with a smile for Julia. 

Amy’s mother, Anne Long, gave her younger daughter a look from further down the table. “You have asked Julia if she wants to go? You do have a habit of sweeping in and –”

“Mother,” said Amy, “you know that’s jolly unfair. Julia and Ned both asked, and of course, I didn’t mind. It’s been ages –”

“Less than two weeks,” said her husband without looking up.

Ted Long turned to Julia before an argument broke out across the table. “Someone said you were Harold Graves’s daughter, yes? I used to know him quite well once upon a time.”

“Yes, everybody seemed to have known my parents,” said Julia, and then, though she meant to laugh, to her horror, she found herself blinking back tears. She hastily wiped her eyes, but the tears continued to come; the innocent question a signal for a long overdue reaction. “Excuse me!” she said, pushing her chair back and rising from the table, before she sobbed all over the fish and ruined both it and the dinner.

“– and, honestly, I don’t think that’s fair when Nancy and her friend could have –” Julia heard Amy still speaking as she reached the door, finishing in a surprised: “Oh!”

 

“Now, what was that about?” said Aunt Daisy a few minutes later, finding Julia in the sitting room, where she was making an effort to control herself again. The older woman gave her a long look, and then passed her another hanky.

Julia took it, with an embarrassed, half-hearted laugh. “Thank you. I _am_ sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

“Well, if you’re worried about the wedding,” said Aunt Daisy, making Julia glance up again in alarm, “you should probably admit as much now. We can’t possibly go through all _that_ again.”

Julia smothered another laugh, and then blew her nose. It really wasn’t sensible but, in many ways, the wedding was the one thing she wasn’t worried about. “No, no! It’s not that at all, I promise, though I do understand if you don’t approve.”

“Good heavens,” said Aunt Daisy. “What would that have to say to anything? It’s your business, and if Edward hasn’t learned from his past mistakes, then I don’t suppose there’s any hope for him. I haven’t time to be standing around approving and disapproving of everyone else. Now, what is it? Surely not what Ted was saying?”

“I really don’t know what it was – it’s been long enough now –”

“Two years or less, isn’t it?” said Aunt Daisy, sitting down beside her. “You said you met Edward when you went out to Berlin to find out, so it couldn’t be much more.”

Julia nodded.

“It’s not a very long time, you know. Grief’s a funny thing.”

“I suppose not,” said Julia. And while Edward’s family weren’t especially similar to her own, it had been a long time since she’d attended a family occasion like this. She understood that, but could still only feel angry with herself for not managing to bite back the reaction till later in her room, when she could have cried in peace and not caused unnecessary drama. “Thank you. I’m so sorry to have made such a fuss, though. What must you all think?”

Aunt Daisy said, “Well, I’m fairly certain they’ll all be asking Edward what he’s done to you, so if it’s not that, you’d best go powder your face and come back in and rescue him. Besides, if you don’t, you’ll miss the pudding.”

 

After dinner was over, Edward drew Julia out into the garden. It wasn’t dark yet, but the light was fading.

“Are you all right?” he asked her in an undertone. “If you don’t want to go through with this, you remember that I said –?”

Julia bit her lip, tempted to snap at him. How could she have forgotten, when he kept saying it? “Yes, and I promised you I’d tell you if that was the problem. I just – well, I suppose I’m not all right,” she said more quietly. “Nothing is any more, is it? I kept out of England all this time because I knew it would make it more real somehow, coming home. That they were all dead, not just Rudy. I know that’s silly. But that’s all it was, and, yes, I do want to go on with this, so please –”

“Why?” he asked, and then, to her amusement looked more surprised than she did by the fact that he’d asked the question.

Julia tried to keep back a laugh. “You _were_ the one who proposed, you know.”

“Yes, yes,” he said, looking away from her again, as if studying the sunset.

“And why did you?”

“I told you.”

Julia patted his arm lightly. “If that’s all you can say, Edward, than all I’m telling _you_ is that I agreed and I fully intend to uphold my end of the bargain.”

She felt so sure that she _could_ , too, even if she didn’t know whether that was true or mere arrogance, or folly. She wasn’t sure of any of her feelings at the moment. There were too many ways in which her previous state of isolation kept betraying her. It hadn’t seemed so bad at all at the time, but provided with something to put in contrast, she suddenly felt it keenly in retrospect. 

And after she’d spoken, Edward leaned forward fractionally, and Julia thought for a moment he was going to kiss her, but then he drew back again and politely ushered her back inside. She found, though, that she very much wished that he had.

 

A week wasn’t very long, not really, that was the worst thing. The end of it approached much too rapidly and Julia was still worrying over whether or not it was asking for trouble to try and deal with one’s difficulties by marrying the first person who offered. It had seemed, well, maybe not reasonable, but practical enough in Paris. At any rate, it was nobody’ else’s business. Here, she felt ever more like an impostor, betraying the trust of the Quentins’ and the others, by her agreement and all her not-quite-lies about how she’d met Edward. 

She still felt, though, an underlying certainty that she could see this through. It was funny how things were that way, sometimes. Some small things could take forever to decide, and then there were life-changing decisions that one arrived upon immediately without any apparent rational thought. This seemed to be one of them. 

There was one thing, though; one question that she needed an answer to. Why her? Edward had given her reasons, but she had suspected back in Paris that they weren’t the real ones, or not the most important. She thought she could guess what that answer must be, but it was something she needed to know, and only Edward could tell her.

 

Julia caught Edward alone after the evening meal – Matthew Quentin being out at some village function and Amy seeing to the children. She took her last chance to ask before rather than after the ceremony and cornered him in the sitting room, shutting the door behind her and then crossing to sit down on the sofa beside him.

Edward lifted his head as she did so, giving her a wary look. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” she said, with a smile. “Nothing.”

“You have a very determined look on your face. If you mean to call the whole thing off –”

Julia moved closer. “I might,” she said. “I might have to do that.”

“Well, I hope not,” he said, still sounding uneasy. He glanced at her again. “What is it?”

She took his hand and leant in nearer, speaking confidentially. “Well, you see, it’s like when we met – I mean at the reception, of course. I need some information from you.”

“I really don’t think at this point that I could possibly have any you’d be interested in.”

Julia tilted her head slightly, and put her hand to his arm. Then she laughed. “Oh, not official information. Don’t worry. This is just for me. Entirely selfish and personal, but I do need to know.”

He relaxed a little, but he was still frowning at her in puzzlement. “Julia?”

“It’s not a difficult question,” she said, although she found herself more breathless than she’d anticipated in finally asking it, unsure of what his reaction might be. She made sure to keep her tone light and conversational. “Just when _did_ you fall in love with me? Paris or Berlin?”

Edward became very still. “I never said anything of the sort. I told you all along that this was –”

“Yes, I know,” she said, and patted his arm. “Well? Which was it?”

“And I wouldn’t put it exactly like that – that would be –”

“Well, however you would put it – Paris or Berlin?”

He hesitated for a moment, as if contemplating some means of escape, but then he said, carefully, “Berlin, I suppose. Except –”

Julia hid her head against his shoulder, trying not to smile. She hadn’t been at all sure that the direct approach would work, but it had seemed the best thing to do. After all, she’d already proved that she wasn’t very good at extracting information by any more subtle means.

“Julia?” he said, and she could hear the nervous edge in his voice.

She straightened herself, drawing back from him. “Oh, yes, sorry – then I will definitely marry you in the morning.” Then she shook her head at him. “Edward, when were you planning to _say_?”

“I don’t know that I was,” he said, still sounding awkward. “It didn’t – have to be important.”

Julia got up. “I don’t think it could ever _not_ be,” she said, but she noticed that he didn’t ask her any similar sort of question in return. To be honest, she was more relieved than disappointed. She still didn’t know, and until she did, there was nothing she could say.


	24. Fine Print (T, 1949: Edward Iveson/Julia Graves)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting married was the easy part; it’s everything else that’s complicated…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> July 1949, Edward Iveson/Julia Graves. First day of the honeymoon.
> 
> Prompts: Chocolate #29 (relief), White Chocolate #18 (anxiety) + Cherry (first time getting even this close to a love scene) + Malt – Birthday prompt ( _I've left my past, it's lying at the door/ I've left my suitcase lying on the floor_ \- Tonight I stay With You, by Texas, from ichthusfish).
> 
> Notes/Warnings: marriage of convenience.

Edward drove the car along the road, occasionally stealing glances at Julia sitting beside him in the passenger seat. She remained there, no matter how many times he checked. Glad as he was over that, he was also beginning to panic. He’d planned everything as carefully as he could, but he was starting to realise that he’d never really believed they’d get this far, not even after she met him to catch the boat. The main thing, he’d told himself, was to get Julia back to England, away from Paris. Things were becoming rapidly unsafe there and he hadn’t wanted to leave her behind again. The last time, in Berlin, he’d been a stranger, and there had been nothing he could do. 

He still couldn’t, in all honesty, find anything to justify that as a reason to propose to her. Really, it had only been an excuse to do what he wanted. The thing was, he didn’t think Julia would have taken his offer of help any other way – he’d felt instinctively that she also needed an excuse to do what she wanted. And so, he’d told himself that once they got back to England, Julia would naturally shy away from the agreement – go back to her own relatives, or at least delay the ceremony. She hadn’t, and they’d been married not much over an hour ago and now he was shifting between triumph and terror at the fact. Why on earth had she gone through with it? What did they do now? They both knew she was merely honouring the agreement, whereas he was fast falling in love with her. That had to be a recipe for disaster by anyone’s standards.

Over the past ten years and more, almost everyone he knew had said to him at some point that he should marry again. A few had added a rider about being more careful this time round. They were right, of course, and Edward was cautious by nature, so it shouldn’t have been difficult, except it turned out that it was. He risked yet another glance at Julia, wondering what she was thinking.

“Oh, Edward,” said Julia suddenly, turning her head towards him. “Stop the car –”

Edward, on edge, slammed on the brakes, bringing them to an unwise emergency stop, winding up half on the grass verge.

“I _was_ going to say,” said Julia, after a breathless pause, “when you see somewhere to pull over, if you would. But, er, thank you, Edward.”

He looked over at her. “Well, there wasn’t anything else around.”

“It’s only that I thought of something,” said Julia, “and I know it’ll seem silly, but if you wouldn’t mind –” She stopped, getting out of the car without waiting for him to make it round to let her out. By the time he did, she was shaking herself. 

He raised his eyebrows in alarm, and then glanced around to check that nobody else was nearby. “Julia –”

“I’m sorry,” she said, “but Amy put confetti down my neck and it’s been annoying me for the past twenty minutes. There, I think that’s done. And, you see, that was when I thought of it – she was trying to make things normal for us, wasn’t she? And I expect it’s a nice hotel, and you see – well, if you would look at the suitcases –”

Edward stared at her. It all seemed such a world away from his panicked thoughts that he couldn’t even begin to understand what she was getting at. “The suitcases?”

“If you _would_ ,” said Julia. “Please.”

Edward rounded the end of the car to open the boot, and Julia joined him, cautiously opening her suitcase, only for more confetti to be caught by the wind and carried onto the road and into the boot.

“I thought as much,” Julia said. “And I didn’t want to do this outside the hotel, or get this everywhere when we did arrive. Had you better check yours, do you think?”

Edward thought that the hotel would be bound to have had this happen before, and was certainly a better place for it than the edge of the road, but he obliged nonetheless. He lifted the lid of his case cautiously, and ran a hand through the folded clothes, stopping suddenly at something he definitely hadn’t packed.

“What is it?” Julia asked, seeing his reaction. 

Edward held up an old horseshoe.

“Oh!” said Julia, and laughed so much that she had to catch hold of his arm to save herself from sitting in the road in her white dress. Edward had to laugh, too, mostly at Julia’s helpless amusement.

Edward shook his head. “What was she thinking?”

“For luck, of course,” said Julia. “Although –” She broke down laughing again.

Edward closed his case again, the horseshoe cast into the boot. “Aren’t they usually more – well, decorative these days?”

“I don’t suppose Amy had anything like that to hand,” said Julia. She looked up at him. “I’m sure it’ll go nicely over the door of your house in London.”

He thought about correcting ‘your house’ to ‘our house’ but since she hadn’t even seen it yet, he didn’t. He should have gone with her into town, and shown her around it, he realised. There was no reason why he hadn’t, except he hadn’t thought of it. He shook himself and set out to examine the car more closely, just in case Amy had tried anything else.

“Yes,” said Julia, evidently having no trouble in interpreting his actions. “I was wondering about that, but she doesn’t seem to have –”

Edward held up the dirty and torn half of a ribbon he’d found tied to the bumper. “I did think that I heard a noise, but it stopped almost immediately. I suppose we left something quite a long way back.” He straightened himself and fished for his handkerchief to wipe his hands. “I told her it was all going to be as quiet as possible – just the immediate family – no fuss –”

“She was being kind,” said Julia, looking up at him with a smile. “And it’s probably as well, you know. Don’t you think we need all the luck we can get?”

He turned his head to her, and thought that Julia, standing there, smiling in the sunshine, was just dazzling. He caught his breath for a moment, but then merely held his hand out for her suitcase, and then shut it back in the boot. They were making more than enough of a spectacle of themselves on a public thoroughfare as it was.

 

The incident had broken through the awkward silence, but Edward’s panic hadn’t entirely subsided. He supposed it was only fair: Julia had evidently had a moment of fright during the ceremony. She’d hung onto his arm too tightly for nearly ten minutes, and all she’d said was something about how it had felt like lying. He wondered again what he should make of that, if anything. 

She’d cornered him last night and made him admit to his feelings for her, leaving him suddenly at a disadvantage. It couldn’t ever not be important, she’d said, and she was right, of course. This afternoon, too late, he could only agree. She’d asked him straight out when he fell in love with her, as if she could see through all of his excuses already. He’d tried to edge round it, unsure how to quantify it even to himself yet. There were moments, though, he thought, when you saw something or someone, or a place, and were seized by the conviction that you wanted whatever it was in your life; sometimes it was something as small as a book, or a play. It had been that way with Julia, except that first meeting had been a short and painful interview after which he’d never expected to see her again, or dared to hope that she would want to talk to him again if he did. He’d spotted her afterwards in Berlin, and he’d looked for her when he came back to London just in case, but otherwise, that was all it was – an idea to be pushed out of his mind, if with some regret.

When he’d met her again in Paris, it had been obvious why she’d approached him, and that should have been an end of it, except he’d been unable to resist making use of the opportunity to meet her again, and that had led to his proposal. Good God, Edward thought in dismay, he’d behaved _appallingly_ and simply avoided thinking about it too hard until the deed was done. 

He looked across at her again. She was picking one last stray piece of Amy’s confetti from her skirt, and he thought, suddenly, that he refused to be sorry.

Julia glanced up, catching his look, and as he hurriedly turned his attention back to the road, said quietly, “Edward. Please. It will be all right.”

He drew in his breath to try and lie, and then stopped himself. “I wasn’t –” He coloured. “I think it’s like you at the register office earlier – suddenly catching up with the reality of it. The arrangement, I should say – please don’t take that the wrong way.”

“I won’t,” said Julia, with a smile. “I feel so sure that it will all work out. I just do. I don’t know why.”

Edward had to smile, too. “Must be Amy’s horseshoe. It is fairly hefty as lucky charms go, after all. That must count for something.”

“Yes,” said Julia, and then added, with a laugh: “Besides, we might as well think that rather than give up before we start. We’re stuck with each other now – _much_ better to make the best of it!”

~0~

Julia couldn’t have said what she felt, any more than she had been able to last night. She had a lowering suspicion that was partly because she didn’t want to admit to her own selfishness. She’d wanted to leave Paris, to get back to something approaching her old, pre-war life. She’d wanted not to be alone, and to have a few comforts in her life. She’d wanted some sort of family again, and Edward was willing to give her all those things. And other than her brief feeling of alarm during the ceremony, she’d been determined ever since she landed in England to get this done as soon as she could, to make it as irrevocable as anyone could. That she’d nearly accomplished, though it wasn’t quite finished yet, she knew.

She refused to feel too guilty, though. Neither of them was trying to deceive the other. There was no reason why they couldn’t make it work. Coming out of the ceremony, she’d wanted to do everything she could to make it real, and while that feeling had faded now, she still thought it was the only way ahead for either of them. She glanced at Edward as they made their way down to dinner, and didn’t think it would be all difficult, or she wouldn’t be here. He wasn’t conventionally handsome; she’d thought that before – he was too narrow-framed to carry off his height, never quite in proportion – but it wasn’t as if he was unattractive in his own way, either. 

He gave a sudden smile that illuminated his otherwise solemn features as he held out his hand to her. She took it firmly. She’d already recognised in herself a slight possessiveness, now she had someone again – she had Edward, he was hers, he’d promised that he would be in front of witnesses. It wasn’t an admirable emotion, she knew, but it was also somewhere to start, at least for tonight.

 

Julia felt sure that once they got back to their room, there would be another terribly awkward conversation, and determined to do something to prevent it. So, when Edward turned towards her on closing the door, and paused, opening his mouth to say something, she stretched up to kiss him instead, her fingers gripping the edge of his collar, as she pulled him down to her level. 

He wasn’t awkward, after all. He drew back only fractionally, putting a hand to her cheek and said softly, “Are you sure?” When she nodded, he kissed her back with something like relief. Julia closed her eyes, owning to herself that she’d been wishing he’d do that all damn week.

 

Maybe, thought Julia, alternately panicking was what most newly married couples did. It wasn’t impossible, though she doubted it. She’d gone into the bathroom to get herself ready, and now, away from him, she was fighting with the clasp of her necklace that didn’t want to come undone. In here, out of the fast fading summer sunlight, she felt cold, clumsy, and wondered how reckless she had to be to place herself in the hands of a man she barely knew.

She took a deep breath, and emerged from the bathroom. “Edward,” she said.

He came over in his shirt sleeves, his tie and jacket cast off, and his cuffs hanging loose, taking in her predicament with the necklace with a smile.

“It’s always been a bit awkward,” she said breathlessly, as he reached her, momentarily putting a hand to her waist to keep her in position. “And now it seems to be completely stuck.” She shrugged, and lifted her hair out of the way for him, so he could see for himself.

He worked on the clasp, the fine chain moving lightly against her skin as he did so, his fingers brushing the back of her neck and shoulders. “Yes, yes, I see,” he said. “It is a little tricky, isn’t it?” He undid it, and then kissed the place where the clasp had been as he removed it.

“Thank you,” she said, and then had to fight not to colour in embarrassment at how formal she’d sounded – she might as well have written a note.

Edward didn’t seem to notice. He gave her another smile, and dropped the light silver chain into her palm. “And the dress?” he said, tilting his head slightly to one side.

She was still wearing the wedding dress. It was relatively simple in style and a good deal nicer than her other options for evening wear, but it was also nearly thirty years old and therefore delicate, and had a run of hooks and eyes at the back. She nodded, though she thought she would have said yes, even if she hadn’t needed any help. Her panic was rapidly fading away now she was with him again.

“Julia,” he said, as he worked his way down the fastenings. “I’m trying to think how to say this, but – there’s no hurry, you know.”

Julia thought about that: she thought about instead trying to sleep in a bed next to him and holding her breath half the time, not daring to move. She thought about all the other awkward conversations they might have, and she also thought, with a laugh that she couldn’t quite keep back – blame a combination of nerves and champagne – about how different this was from the last time she’d been intimate with anyone. (That had been hasty and in secret, in an uncomfortable location with as few clothes removed as they could get away with, on both occasions. And Michael had always had such trouble remembering her name.)

“Julia?” said Edward, halting and trying to move his head to look at her face, not easy from that angle.

She closed her eyes, and tried to joke, though her voice was a little unsteady. “Well, I’m not sure that’s very complimentary.”

“My God – Julia!” He halted where he was in his obvious indignation. “I think you know exactly what I meant.”

She bit her lip. “I’m sorry. Edward, it isn’t that, it’s only – well – can we just – just –” Julia caught her breath. “Amy was trying to make everything normal for us earlier – can’t we do that, too? Pretend that we’re any other couple on their honeymoon and not –?” She waved a hand by way of finishing her incoherent attempt at an explanation. _Pretend we’re not us_ , she finished instead, in her head. _Pretend we’re not two people stupid enough to get themselves into this situation_.

Edward reached the last hook, and helped her out of the dress, leaving her in her underclothes, minus the stockings which she’d already removed in the bathroom. “Happily,” he said, catching hold of her hand before she could move away again, tugging her back to face him. “You know, though, normal is terrible choice of word for anything to do with you.”

Julia gave an uncertain laugh. “I’m not sure that’s very complimentary, either.” She only looked up at him, still not having regained the nerve she seemed to have lost when she stepped out of the room. It was also an underlying mistrust of her motives that caused her to hold back, feeling in some way that she was the one taking advantage of him. She needed him to return the reassurance she’d given him earlier, or at least to guide her back to where they’d been before she’d left.

She didn’t know if he understood, but he saw her hesitation, and put his free hand to her face, stroking her cheek with his thumb, then releasing her hand to grasp her shoulder, he kissed her lightly but deliberately, and again, until she moved in nearer, beginning to feel a more pleasurable unsteadiness. She caught hold of him, her fingers gripping the edge of his shirt, her thumb resting against his chest, feeling his heartbeat quickening under her touch.

Edward moved his hand away from her face, down to her waist; she felt his touch through the thin material of the petticoat, before he helped her remove it, drawing her nearer to the bed as he did so, sitting as they reached the edge of it. He kissed her again, and she slid her arms around his neck, running her fingers through his hair.

It _would_ be all right, she thought again, surer still this time, though there wasn’t the leisure to say it aloud now, as she closed her eyes and let instinct take over, burying her worries. It would work out, she just knew it would. She didn’t let herself think any further – that it must, or what would become of them?


	25. Inconvenience (PG, 1949: Edward Iveson/Julia Graves)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“It’s not very business-like… I thought this was supposed to be a marriage of convenience.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jul 1949; Edward Iveson/Julia Graves. Brief moment from the honeymoon. 
> 
> Prompts: Flavour of the Day 17/07/16 ( _ambrosial_ ) Flash fic.
> 
> Notes: Fluff.

“Isn’t it funny how everything seems so much nicer –”

“Outside?” Julia finished for him with a laugh.

Edward glanced over at her, a decidedly amused light in his eyes, and she had the feeling she’d walked into a trap. “That wasn’t what I was going to say. Today, perhaps. With you.”

She felt the heat rise in her cheeks and turned away, suddenly giving all her attention to stealing the last strawberry. “That’s a very unbusiness-like compliment,” she told him, as she lifted her head again, regaining her self-possession. “I thought this was supposed to be a marriage of convenience.”

“Well,” said Edward, with a fractional, humorous quirk of his mouth, “it is only the honeymoon.”

Julia knew she must be blushing again. Heaven alone knew why, given last night – although thinking about that, she found, didn’t help at all, even though it wasn’t a very private spot they’d found for their picnic. She retaliated in the only way she could, raising her chin, and saying, “Clearly _you_ shouldn’t have had any wine with your lunch.”

“Oh,” said Edward, suddenly all seriousness that she didn’t buy for a moment. “Is _that_ what it is?”


	26. Some Enchanted Evening (T, 1949: Edward Iveson/Julia Graves)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward is lost inside the most charming illusion he’s ever known.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summer 1949; Edward Iveson/Julia Graves. Second evening of the honeymoon.
> 
> Prompts: Chocolate #15 (passion), Papaya #29 (I wouldn’t miss it)
> 
> Mostly fluff. (I wrote a lot of backstory fluff in between the main story bleak stuff.)

“Coffee?” the waiter said, pausing by their table.

Julia shook her head, and then stole a glance at Edward, an amused gleam in her eyes.

“No, not for me either,” said Edward hastily, and then looked back at Julia, who laughed, leaning her head on her hand, her cheeks flushed, as she watched him in return. “Julia?”

She drew back into her chair. “I’ve gone all light-headed from the champagne,” she said. “I always do, if I’m not careful. You’ll have to hang onto me in case I fall down the stairs.”

“I’ll make a note of that for future reference,” he said, with a brief grin, and then rose from the table, holding out his hand to her. He didn’t really need any encouragement to keep a hold on her as he ushered her out of the hotel’s dining room and up the main staircase. At the top, he looked at her again, and said, “You don’t really need any help, do you?”

“I shouldn’t think so,” said Julia in an undertone as they stopped by the door to their room, “but it’s always better to be safe than sorry. You never know.”

Edward had to laugh, opening the door and pulling her inside.

“You know,” Julia said, leaning against the door to close it as he faced her, “I had the funniest feeling when I woke up this morning and it’s been the same all day.”

“Julia,” he said, in alarm at what she might be going to say next.

She shook her head with a smile, moving nearer to him and taking hold of him by his jacket. “No, no. It’s only that I’ve been happy nearly all day – and I’d forgotten the way that felt.” She looked up at him. 

He wasn’t sure what to say. “Julia,” he began again, halting uselessly and drawing her closer instead, leaning his head against hers: she smelled somehow of all the parts of this July day they’d shared – the sunshine, the grass outside, the champagne, and her rose-scented perfume threaded through everything.

“Oh,” she said, suddenly sounding more serious, “and I _am_ only the very smallest bit tiddly, honestly.”

He laughed again, and she tugged at his jacket before kissing him a little clumsily and then moving across to the bed to pull off her light summer’s dress. Edward took that as his cue to shed his jacket and tie, doing so gratefully. It was too warm for such things, but he wouldn’t dream of not dressing for dinner at a time and place like this. That done, he sat down beside her, sitting on the bed in her petticoat. She gave him another bright smile and lay down, one arm flung up by her head on the pillow.

He didn’t need any champagne, Edward thought; he’d been in a state of intoxication all day as it was just being with her. He’d woken up next to Julia, they’d gone for a walk and a picnic together in unusually perfect weather, and he knew what she meant about the unfamiliar sensation of happiness, interspersed in his case by moments of something akin to terror. He was trying to navigate himself back to a more rational position and not having much success. He was beginning to suspect that there might be no such thing when it came to the way he felt about Julia. That was the trouble with affairs of the heart; they tended to irrationality.

She’d said, yesterday, that they should pretend, make believe that they were any other couple on their honeymoon and he hadn’t argued; he couldn’t want right now to do anything else, to be anywhere but here. It was simultaneously more than he had any right to ask of her and also the lie he was already telling himself inside his head, papering it over the painful truth.

“Oh, God, Julia,” he said, looking down at her, leaning forward to touch her face, her hair. She laughed lightly, turning her head to kiss his hand. It was only an illusion, though, no matter how charming it might be. He felt the fear tighten in his chest again. He didn’t need to pretend; it was time to own to himself at least that no matter what disclaimers he tried to hedge the fact round with, he already loved her. It was still much too soon to be sure of that, he’d kept trying to tell himself; one simply _didn’t_ fall in love almost at first sight, not even at second or third or fourth sight, but here he was nevertheless. If he said that to her, though, it would spoil the evening; it would shatter this beautiful illusion, because if he was sure of anything yet when it came to Julia, it was that she was too essentially honest to take her pretending that far: she would never say those words unless she meant them.

She lifted her head, watching him curiously. “Edward?”

“It’s all right,” he said, and kissed her before straightening up and unbuttoning his shirt.

“I do _like_ you,” she said suddenly. “I do. It might be an odd agreement, but I wouldn’t have gone through with it with just anyone. So, I _do_.”

Edward smiled, but it hurt a little. Oh, God, he thought, they still had tomorrow here, but how would it be when they left this little bubble of unreality and returned to London to find out what sort of mess they’d made of their lives?

“And you should know,” said Julia, “that if I'm like this, I shall probably just talk and talk – unless you stop me.”

He laughed, and thought then only that they still had tomorrow, and what was the point of worrying about what came after? Maybe the world would end before they had to leave, who knew? He obliged by kissing her again and Julia put her arms around him, keeping him close. Some things might be a pretence, but she was utterly real: her cheeks still heated from the wine, her arms cool against his neck and her body warm under the thin petticoat. It wasn’t, he knew, only an illusion that he surrendered to so willingly.


	27. Dreaming in Sunlight (PG, 1949: Edward Iveson/Julia Graves)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s nearly time to go home, and Julia’s not ready.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jul 1949; Julia Graves/Edward Iveson. Day 4 of the honeymoon.
> 
> Prompts: Sangria #30 (nothing happens unless first a dream), Cookies & Cream #20 (reach)

Julia woke, the early summer sunlight filtering in through the curtains, beflowered in yellow and green. She turned slightly, finding Edward still apparently asleep beside her and felt again that inexplicable and unfamiliar wave of happiness flood through her. She shifted again, fear creeping in after: today was the fourth day of their honeymoon; today they had to leave. She liked it here, in this charming olde worlde hotel, in holiday mood, safely away from all the mundane annoyances and worries. She didn’t want to leave it for a home and life that was as yet unknown to her. She had never seen Edward’s house and she couldn’t imagine it from what little he’d said. A typical London town house, he’d told her briefly and she pictured something tall and narrow and dark, and she felt cold already. They’d have to start working out their real relationship and no longer play this delightful game, pretending they were only like any other newly married couple.

Right here, right now, it didn’t feel much like a game or pretence, Julia thought, putting out a hand to touch Edward’s chest. But one couldn’t build so much on so small an acquaintance: the ground was too uncertain, too inclined to crumble away. They both knew that.

Edward wasn’t asleep; he opened his eyes to see her looking at him and kissed her head as she edged closer still. If this was really only a dream, she would make all she could of it before they must wake up again.


	28. House/Home (PG 1949: Edward Iveson/Julia Graves, Amyas Harding, Lionel Graves)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julia and Edward begin their marriage of inconvenience.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jul-Sept 1949; Julia Graves/Edward Iveson, Amyas Harding. 
> 
> Prompts: Passionfruit #21 (Once I spoke the language of the flowers), Papaya #30 (are you thinking what I’m thinking?) + Gummy Bunny (500themes: #193 Calling you home) + Brownie + Malt – Birthday prompt ( _"Experience suggests it doesn't matter so much how you got here, as what you do after you arrive."_ \- roisin_farrell).
> 
> Notes/warnings: marriage of convenience; loss.

_I. sprig of ivy, bud of the white rose, love lies bleeding_

Their arrival in London after the brief honeymoon seemed to signal an abrupt change – from sunlight to shadow (the house was old, and tall, cold despite the summer warmth), from pleasure to business, from being together to being apart. Julia didn’t like finding herself alone again.

She’d said, soon after they returned, couldn’t they just carry on pretending, the way they had during the honeymoon, and that was the first time she ran into Edward’s trick of concealing his anger behind an impenetrable wall of politeness. He was sorry, he said, but he couldn’t do that, and then went and shut himself in the study soon afterwards.

Julia had been angered by his response, but now as she lay here trying to get to sleep, she stopped to ask herself how she might have felt had the situation been the other way around, and she wasn’t sure how she’d have liked it, either. She turned over, wanting to say something to make it better, but he was already asleep, and, anyway, what was there she could say? She could tell him she liked him, she could tell him she didn’t even know what her feelings were as yet, but she couldn’t say the one thing that would mend affairs.

She wouldn’t pretend, either, and she wouldn’t tell him she loved him until she knew it wasn’t a lie.

 

_II. house leek, sage, coriander_

Edward’s house was a typical London residence, part of a long terrace of elegant Georgian buildings. It had four floors – a basement just below street level, with a coal cellar, kitchen and scullery, plus a small room that had probably originally housed an unfortunate maid of all work; a dining room, sitting room and study at ground level, while above was the main bedroom, a spare room and a bathroom. At the top was the attic with a nursery and three much smaller rooms, none of them in use currently, and one of them a boxroom.

Julia initially found it an unwelcome contrast to her apartment in Paris – that had been cramped and situated inconveniently at the very top of the building, but she’d had a skylight and windows and an incomparable view. This house was old-fashioned and too dark, and one had to go up into the attic to get a view, mostly of similar buildings stretching out endlessly. 

It could, she thought, be much better with some simple improvements, but she wasn’t sure what Edward would think if she immediately started to redecorate everything. And it could, of course, have been worse, so she hardly liked to sound as if she were complaining.

It had occurred to her once they set out for London, that he might still have a housekeeper or a manservant. Julia had done without for long enough, and the world had changed in the meantime, so she hadn’t thought. She also carried the memory of her childhood, of vaguely being aware of things that were wrong, but they must always put on a façade in front of the servants. She knew that if her parents’ marriage had been difficult, which she suspected it had, it wasn’t down to the servants, but the two things were indelibly linked in her mind.

She’d been glad, therefore, to learn that all she had to deal with was a modest town house and a woman called Mrs Crosbie who came in daily to ‘do’ for him. Mrs Crosbie had, on being introduced, eyed Julia warily, not being prepared to give approval without it being first earned, and then together they had worked out that she should come in every other day to help with the heavier household tasks, and Julia would manage the rest. Julia was proud to say that she had now reached the stage of being tolerated and even receiving grudging admittances that Mrs Iveson did at least know the proper way of doing things.

And so she should, Julia thought, since her school had insisted on everyone taking Domestic Science up to at least the Fifth Form. It was a long-standing tradition and also anyone who raised the issue of too much learning making girls unfeminine could be countered with the assurance that all their pupils knew how to cook, turn a decent hem, and manage all the basic household tasks with competence. Julia had then emerged into the real world minus her family and in the midst of war and had to put all of it into practice, although she soon learned to cut most of the corners they’d taught her not to, but that was one of the benefits of not being at school. On top of that, her war work had involved much organisation of large groups of people, for meetings and meals, including managing the canteen for a short while – a project of much desperation at some points, thanks to rationing. 

Running a household held no fears for Julia – in fact, she enjoyed it. Even if Mrs Crosbie was still not entirely approving, Julia was the one in charge, and it was leisurely compared to the kitchens at the Embassy, or her previous work. At the moment, now that she was drawing to the end of an initial orgy of cleaning, there wasn’t really quite enough to do. No doubt once autumn came around and Parliament was in session again, there would be dinners and social events to organise. In the meantime, Julia was casting a wistful, speculative eye at the dreadful red curtains in the dining room, and the carpet with the worn patch in the study, but while she wasn’t in the least bit afraid of housework, she was unwilling to ask too much more of Edward.

 

“You don’t have to do that,” Edward said, catching her polishing the banister as he returned that afternoon.

Julia looked up from her task with a quick smile. “But I can if I want to, surely?”

“Well, yes, of course,” he said, and she saw his face lighten with amusement as he removed his jacket. She was unsure what he’d been doing, given that Parliament was in recess. He had explained before they’d arrived – something to do with Mr Morley wanting him, and a report that still needed work, and he also had one or two board meetings (something to do with his father’s business that he had only nominal interest in) but she wasn’t clear about it in her mind. 

“I didn’t ask you to, though,” Edward added. “You make me feel rather guilty – is there anything I can do in return?”

“Oh, if you could get the government to finally end rationing, or at least, abolish queuing, that would do nicely. That’s the tedious part, even if I shouldn’t complain because Mrs Crosbie does more than her fair share.”

“I think that might be beyond my power,” he said. “Is there anything else?”

Julia walked down the stairs towards him, twisting the duster in her hands. “Well, actually, Edward, there is something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

“Oh?” he said warily, watching her descent. “That sounds a worryingly ominous beginning.”

She laughed. “I hope not. Only – what can and can’t I touch in the house? I don’t want to run round and change everything, but I do think one or two of the rooms would be so much nicer for a fresh coat of paint, or a new pair of curtains. Don’t you think? I don’t mean anything terribly expensive or wholesale, but I’d like to. I was just afraid I might sound –” she found herself oddly breathless “– rather ungrateful.”

Edward stepped forward to lean on the end of the banister as she reached the bottom step beside him. “It is also your house,” he pointed out. “If you want to change anything like that, then please do. I’ve every confidence in your judgement.”

“You’re sure?”

“Julia,” he said, leaning forward, the puzzled expression on his face clearing. “This isn’t some old family home, you know. Well, technically, it was my father’s but it was something he inherited from an uncle, not long before they went out to Uganda, and he rented it out. We lived in Kent, near my aunt and uncle back then. The only time I lived here until this last year or so was when – during my first marriage, and that wasn’t for very long, either. I did have some work done before I moved back in, because the last tenants really had done their worst, but there are any number of things that still need work, I’m sure.”

Julia blinked a bit. She had thought it must have been his house for longer than that, but it hadn’t crossed her mind that he might have lived here with his first wife. It was a discomfiting thought. “You were here with – with Caroline?”

“Yes,” he said, and then hesitated, seeming to recognise the strangeness of it for himself. “I honestly hadn’t thought about it – it was for such a short while, so long ago. Is that too odd? We can find somewhere else, I’m sure.”

Julia shrugged off her discomfort with the idea; it was ridiculous, really. She’d just paint with even more of a vengeance, she decided. “No, no,” she said hastily. “I just – hadn’t thought of that, either. But it doesn’t matter, of course.”

She was rewarded by a relieved smile.

“I will warn you before I change anything significant,” she said. “But at least if I know it’s all right, I can plan, and I can get some samples.”

Edward nodded. “Julia,” he said, “what I was meaning to say is that I’m going to have to go away, just for a few days.”

“Oh,” said Julia, stifling dismay she had no cause to feel. “And I take it from your tone that I can’t come?”

“I’m afraid not. Besides – it’ll all be very tedious and political.”

Julia leant towards him and laughed. “I see. And in that case, I warn you, while you are away, I shall have my revenge and change all the curtains!”

 

_III. french marigold, jonquil, garden anemone_

Staying at Crispin Morley’s house in Shropshire, Edward found himself caught by Amyas Harding after one of the meetings.

“I can’t stay now, unfortunately,” Harding told him, “but it’s been too long, Iveson. I’ll see you when you’re back in town. Oh, it’s nothing – a query, a word of advice or two. We can have a meal at the club, what do you say?” Then he paused and gave Edward a smile. “Oh, of course, I was forgetting – if Mrs Iveson can spare you, I should say.”

Edward knew at this point the natural thing would be to invite Harding to his house and introduce him to Julia, but he ignored that. “I’m sure that will be fine. If it’s important –”

“Well, it’s not life or death, Edward,” said Harding, with a smile. “And when it’s not purely a matter of politics, I’ll see about inviting you both over. It’s about time I met this mysterious wife of yours. You’re a dark horse, you know. I was beginning to think perhaps it wasn’t true, but Crispin assures me that she’s entirely real and quite charming.”

Edward looked aside, not quite ready for the questions. They were perfectly natural and he’d fielded them from a few people already, but Harding was another matter. Somehow it was hard to believe he wouldn’t immediately spot the charade. 

“Yes, of course,” said Edward. “Thank you. I’d invite you over myself, but not without asking Julia. And, really, there’s nothing mysterious about any of it. I’ve known her for a while, but she’s been away recently, and then we had to keep the ceremony quiet for – for family reasons.”

“Yes, yes,” said Harding. “Still, see me on Thursday, and you can tell me all about that, too.”

Edward nodded, and walked away, heading up the stairs as Harding made his exit. He was aware he was being irrational and was ashamed of himself, but he didn’t want Harding to meet Julia, not yet – not at the house. Things were so uncertain between them, and he didn’t want the ever-observant and mocking Harding seeing that.

It wasn’t Julia’s fault; she had been more generous about everything than he’d had reason to expect. She’d suggested that they carry on ‘pretending’ and though it was a painful suggestion, she had meant it kindly, he knew. It was almost a promise in itself that the pretence would become real one day. He was the one who’d shied away. He simply couldn’t, not like that. He couldn’t bear to have only her pity, a mock-affection, neither could he bring himself to press her for anything more, and he didn’t know where the line between the two lay.

Of course, beyond that, and despite what he believed he knew of Julia already, there was always question of why she’d accepted his odd offer – her motives might well be loyalty to a cause, or even merely mercenary. Until he could be sure that wasn’t the case, accepting the illusion of everything he wanted was too dangerous. It would be too easy to lose himself in that, to forget what might be at stake.

In the meantime, what he didn’t want was Harding seeing any of this, or flirting casually with Julia as he inevitably would. It wasn’t as if either of them would do anything worse, he knew, but there were limits.

 

“How was everything?” Edward asked Julia on returning home. He kissed her on the cheek, because some pretences were a mere civility.

She smiled back at him. “Oh, awful. I nearly died of loneliness without you, but then I managed to console myself with some samples of material.”

“It was a serious question,” he said, unsure what to make of some of her teasing.

Julia drew back. “And it was only two days, Edward. I’m quite well still, thank you.” Then she cast him a sideways look and said, “I’m not so sure about you, though. Do you think perhaps politics don’t agree with you after all and you should give it up?”

Yes, thought Edward, the idea of Julia and Harding in the same room just now was intolerable.

 

_IV. white poppy, bramble, white clover_

Julia was ostensibly listening to the radio, but _Mrs Dale’s Diary_ was failing to keep her enthralled. In fact, very little seemed to have changed in the two years since she’d been away – other than the odd member of the cast suddenly sounding magically different. It must be a very strange sort of world, she decided, where almost nothing was too small to pass unremarked and unrecorded and very little happened, but one’s husband could suddenly became a completely different person without anybody noticing.

Of course, thought Julia with a sigh, it wasn’t Mrs Dale’s husband that was troubling her, it was her own. She paused again to allow herself a thoroughly shallow moment of satisfaction at the words, the possessive: _her husband_. Except what use were words when Edward kept avoiding her one way or another?

It wasn’t a problem, really. In many ways, considering the situation, it should have been a relief. And he hadn’t turned out to be cruel or violent or demanding or any number of things he could have been, given that she’d barely known him before she married him. She had a fair amount to do, too, happily working on the house and getting accustomed to being back in London again. Still, she felt disconcerted by the way they were so close together here and so far apart at the same time. She didn’t have many old friends she cared to see and the only relatives she had left, she was hoping to avoid for as long as possible, and she did like having someone to talk to, so that left only Edward. It wasn’t fair of him to be so elusive.

Maybe it was also a matter of a small, selfish pride that made her dislike the fact. Her only other serious admirer had been Michael, and he’d moved on from her once he’d got what he wanted with an insulting rapidity. It would be galling and rather alarming if the same were true of Edward, who was so very unlike Michael, and who had said that he loved her.

Julia switched the radio off and leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. There was, she thought, after all, a fairly simple way to reassure herself on that score, and got up, intending to put it to the test before she stopped and reminded herself that she was still being rather selfish.

 

Edward wasn’t writing when she entered the study; he was staring out of the window, and turned towards her immediately.

“You’re not in the middle of something terribly important, are you?” she asked, because after all, she hardly wanted to derail the government just to make herself feel better.

He blinked in surprise, and then said, “No, not at all. As a matter of fact, I was writing to my aunt – and now I’m afraid I must go.”

“Must you?” said Julia, perching herself on the desk, and trying not to let her dismay show. “You haven’t long been back.”

Edward got to his feet, giving a slight laugh as he looked down at her. “I have to go and see Mr Harding. It’s kind of him to take any interest in me – I can’t really let him down without a reason. I thought I’d said.”

“I think you did,” she said, “but I’d forgotten. Mrs Dale was so thrilling earlier it drove it quite out of my mind.”

He looked at her, drawing his eyebrows together in puzzlement. “Sometimes, Julia, I don’t understand you.”

“Never mind,” said Julia cheerfully, giving him a quick smile, although she had to wonder whether, at this precise moment, it was a good or bad thing that he didn’t. She reached up to pat his arm, and then slid off the desk again. “Will you be late?”

“There’s a good chance I will be. There’s nothing wrong, is there?”

“Oh, no,” said Julia. “I shall be _fine_ , of course. Now, get on and go – you don’t want to be late for – which one is Mr Harding again?”

“The President of the Board of Trade,” said Edward. 

Julia sat back down on the desk after Edward had gone and said, “And apparently he’s more alluring than I am, too.” Fate, she decided, clearly had it against her ever trying to seduce Edward. She hadn’t got as far as even trying the first time, either.

 

Edward wasn’t merely late back; he was very late back. Julia lay alone in the bed and grew unreasonably angry with him – marrying her, and then practically abandoning her, and, moreover, going out just when she’d had other ideas. It would serve him right, she thought, if she painted the study in mustard yellow and left him to still try and tell her that he trusted her judgment.

After a further glance at the clock, however, her anger shifted into worry. He hadn’t said he would be this late. Late was any time after supper, not gone midnight. What if something had happened? Julia closed her eyes and imagined some horrible traffic accident, until she turned over and laughed at herself for being so ridiculous.

Anyway, she told herself, perhaps she was being naïve. Perhaps this marriage had never been about her, it had been about someone else, masking another affair, or getting back at someone who’d now realised their mistake. Perhaps that was where he was. It was, she knew, even less likely than the traffic accident, but Julia distracted herself then with imagining possible scenarios (the other woman was inevitably awful, and Julia won in the end, naturally) and fell asleep in the middle.

She woke again, briefly, hearing a sound downstairs and registering vaguely that it must be Edward, but she didn’t even manage to look at the clock again before she drowsed off again.

 

When Julia went downstairs in the morning, she found Edward already sitting at the table, drinking coffee. She hesitated over what, exactly to ask him, but he looked up, and held up a hand, as if to ward off the inevitable question.

“One learns very quickly that this is one of the perils of meeting with Mr Harding,” said Edward. “I’m sorry. I’m usually more careful.”

Julia raised an eyebrow and leant against one of the chair backs. “Yes, it’s not like you,” she said, and then coloured, because, really, she had no way to know that yet. It hadn’t quite been a month since the wedding day.

“It won’t happen again,” said Edward, with a wince.

Julia shrugged to herself and headed off to the kitchen to make breakfast, returning a while later with the tray. “I wasn’t saying anything, you know,” she said, as she sat down at the table. “Only – I hadn’t realised you’d be that late, and I _did_ worry.” She looked down then and attended to buttering her toast, remembering what else she’d thought. Then, reaching for the marmalade, she glanced at him again. “You didn’t come upstairs.”

“I didn’t want to disturb you,” he said, pretending to read the newspaper. Then he gave a slight smile and said, “To be honest, I wasn’t entirely sure about the stairs at that point, either.”

 

_V. lily-of-the-valley, spanish jasmine, dog rose_

“Edward!” said Julia, ambushing him as he came in the door, catching him by the arm and pulling him into the study, where she said, carefully lowering her voice, “I’m afraid my uncle is here. Now, please, you have to get rid of him at once!”

He couldn’t help being amused. “Am I allowed to get my breath back and remove my hat first?”

“Oh,” she said, with impatience, and stretched up and took off his hat for him. “I mean it! I wrote to him two weeks ago, because it seemed wrong not to, and now the wretched man is here, and he won’t go. I told him I was busy painting, but he wouldn’t take the hint. Perhaps he was only waiting to meet you, but if he doesn’t go now, I shall be obliged to invite him to dinner.”

“And that would be terrible?”

Julia drew back from him, and Edward looked down at her, wondering if he should tell her that her statement about the painting was backed up by her appearance. She’d shed her housecoat, but she had lilac paint on her cheek and a spot on the collar of her blouse.

“Well, if he said one thing more about my mother and Christy, I’d have no choice but to throw a plate at him. Or possibly the gravy boat. Only think how dreadfully awkward you would find that,” she said. “And once I’d said I was painting, I could hardly claim I was going out.”

Edward laughed. “Very well, I’ll do my best. Go back in, try not to behave in the meantime, and I shall join you in a moment.”

Julia nodded, and fled back to the sitting room, and Edward remembered only belatedly that he hadn’t mentioned the paint after all.

 

Lionel Graves was stood up to shake Edward’s hand when he entered, breathing harder at the effort. He was an older man, probably in his late sixties, with iron grey hair and heavy brows, but beginning to develop an indefinable edge of fragility. “Iveson,” he said. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“Sir,” said Edward politely. “Likewise.”

Graves sat back down in the armchair. “Julia told me the news, so I came to pay my compliments to the pair of you.”

“Thank you,” said Edward, aware of Julia watching him too closely while he engaged in small talk. (Honestly, he thought, did she expect him to walk in and immediately demand that her only surviving close relative leave that instant?) As soon as he felt he decently could, however, he leaned forward, and said, “If you’ll forgive me, Mr Graves –”

Graves gave a nod. “Oh, ah. You’ve other things to be doing, I daresay?”

“I’m afraid so,” said Edward. “We’ll have to arrange things a little better next time, but I’m expecting a call from Mr Harding, and it is rather important –”

He nodded again, dragging himself out of the chair; the name of a high-ranking member of the government carrying some weight, evidently. “Yes, of course. Only came to pay my regards. Nice to know that someone in the family has some sense.”

“I beg your pardon?” said Edward, pretending incomprehension, his face a blank wall.

Graves waved a hand. “Oh, nothing, nothing. But, between us, my sister-in-law –”

“Was a very charming lady, yes,” said Edward, carefully missing the point, and leaving no room for contradiction. Having had to hone his skills at public speaking lately could be an advantage at times. “I met her several times when I was younger. I know her loss was felt by a great many people, not only you, sir. I’m sorry.”

“Yes,” Graves said more slowly, and then nodded again to Julia, before taking his leave of them both.

 

“Well, you can see what I mean,” said Julia, as soon as he had gone. “I know Mother made a foolish decision, but then, how was she to know exactly how bad things were, or how they would end? And now he thinks I’ve made a sensible marriage, he approves of me again. I take after his side of the family, after all, it seems. I’ve no patience with him!”

“And what will you do next time you see him?”

Julia shook herself. “Oh, well, next time I’ll be warned. We can invite him to dinner with some other people and it won’t be so bad. He won’t talk like that with strangers there, I’m sure.”

“A dinner party with all the awkward guests at once, to get it over with, perhaps?” said Edward, amused again. 

Julia had still been visibly tense from the visit; shoulders hunched and her eyebrows drawn into a hard line. Now she laughed. “It would be a thought,” she said, and patted his arm. “You’ll have to give me a list. Oh, and, thank you.”

“I’m afraid,” said Edward, “that I didn’t do anything except –” He stopped at the knock at the door, and gave her an apologetic look. “I was telling the truth. That’ll be Mr Harding now. There’s a report he wants me to look at, and he’s bringing it himself because he wants to meet you.”

“Oh,” said Julia. “Oh, no! Couldn’t you have warned me?”

Edward put a hand to her shoulder briefly as he moved away towards the door. “Julia, you didn’t exactly give me a chance.”

 

Harding walked into the sitting room behind Edward, and then stepped forward lightly to shake Julia’s hand. “Mrs Iveson! I’ve been hearing so much about you, I thought it was about time I saw you for myself.”

“Good things, I hope,” said Julia, with a smile.

“Oh, naturally,” he said. “And I see that nothing was exaggerated. Edward is a lucky fellow.”

Julia slipped her arm through Edward’s. “You’re too kind, Mr Harding. I, of course, happen to think it’s the other way round.”

“Of course,” Harding echoed, darting an amused look at Edward, who hardly knew what to say with Julia at his side, maintaining the façade quite happily.

“Would you like a drink?” asked Julia, leaning in against Edward. “And then I suppose you two have important things to discuss again, so I shall take myself out of your way.”

Harding shook his head. “No, no, I came only to deliver this and in the hope of catching sight of you, Mrs Iveson. That accomplished, I need to be elsewhere, sadly. Another time, however, I shall be delighted.”

“We’ll have to invite you round to dinner,” said Julia, suddenly very careful not to look at Edward, who had trouble maintaining his composure nevertheless.

 

Edward showed Harding out and returned to Julia, feeling both relieved and foolish that he’d been so afraid of letting the two of them meet. He reached her and gave a hopeful smile.

“Well,” said Julia, “I trust nobody else is going to call. I’m determined to finish that last patch of wall!” Then she laughed. “I hope you appreciated how well I played the part. Why on earth were you so worried? You’d gone all –” Then she shrugged, failing to find the right words. “Like hanging onto the lamp post. Is there something dreadful about him I should know?”

Edward felt his mood drop, a sudden leaden feeling in his stomach and his limbs. He had to stop and make himself answer her last question. “No, no,” he said hastily. “I was – I don’t know. I suppose I had the feeling he would see straight through us – but, as you say, you played your part to perfection.”

“And you did deal with my uncle very nicely,” she said, giving him a smile, “so I’ll forgive you for introducing me to a Cabinet Minister when I know full well I must have paint on my face.”

 

Julia disappeared into the spare room again after dinner, saying that she wanted to give the door frame one more coat, and then she needed to clear everything away. Edward stood up, offering to help, but she stalled him with a smile and put a hand on his arm. 

“I know you have that report to read,” she told him. “Anyway, I’m enjoying myself, honestly, I am. And it does look better already, don’t you think?”

Edward agreed that it did, and then took himself off into the sitting room rather than the study, where he read through the report Harding had given him, or attempted to, feeling inattentive and irritable and inclined to be distracted by any sound in the house that might mean Julia was coming back downstairs.

And only a few days ago, he’d been unwisely letting Harding get him drunk just to avoid coming home to her. It wasn’t at all a sensible marriage, thought Edward. Lionel Graves was as wrong about that as he seemed to be about everything else. 

 

Edward went in search of her eventually, and found her upstairs sitting on the bed in her dressing gown, reading a book. She’d obviously had a bath after finishing her painting; her hair was still slightly damp. She looked up with a vague smile when he entered.

He had to laugh then. He crossed over to the bed and sat beside her. “You’ve missed a bit,” he told her. “Paint, I mean.”

“Oh, but I haven’t!” she said, dropping the book.

Edward put a hand to her face, touching her cheek with his thumb where there was still a fleck of lilac paint. “Yes, you have.”

“Well,” she said, giving him a hard stare. “I really don’t think I’m inclined to take that from a man who has ink on the end of his nose.”

Edward fought the urge to try and look. “Thank you, Julia. I don’t. I haven’t even been in the study, except –” He followed his thought further and halted, realising that he had pushed a pen out of the way of the papers when he’d put them down on his desk and that it might well have been the fountain pen that leaked; the one he was supposed to have thrown out. 

She laughed. “No, really, you have, you know. You should be more careful. And here, too,” she added, touching his forehead by the temple, her fingers brushing the ends of his hair.

He leaned in nearer, his head against hers. Her hair was still slightly wet at the ends and she smelled of lily-of-the-valley scented soap and, he realised with amusement, still a faint edge of paint and turpentine. He should move away, he thought, but couldn’t summon up the will. He wanted to stay here; it was a far more pleasant sort of intoxication than that of the other night. Then Julia responded, ending his indecision by putting her hand up to grip his collar, while with the other she threaded her fingers further through his hair. He relaxed into her hold, gratefully letting go of everything but this moment, and Julia.

 

_VI. garden daisy, flowering almond, purple columbine_

It was a fine day, far too warm to have wasted half of it in a boardroom meeting, especially one that was largely a formality. Edward was relieved to return home, finding Julia out in the garden. She looked up with a guilty start on hearing his voice, and he crossed over.

“What are you doing?”

She gave an embarrassed laugh, and got to her feet, holding up a daisy chain that fell apart. “Indulging in a fit of childhood nostalgia,” she said, and handed him the sole remaining daisy. “I don’t suppose you used to do that.”

He turned the daisy around between his thumb and forefinger, and said, “Well, Amy and Nancy used to, so I may well have done, once or twice.”

Julia looked away down the garden, and then back at him. “If there’s a meaning in it,” she said, with a nod at the daisy, “I really don’t remember, I’m afraid.”

“I’m sorry?” said Edward, at a loss.

Julia shook her head with a smile. “Oh, nothing,” she said. “It was only something I was thinking about a moment ago. Don’t mind me.”

“Yes,” he said, distracted and unsettled by her non sequitur. “I have some work to do, so I’ll be inside.”

Julia looked at him for a moment, and he hastily glanced aside to study a nearby small apple tree that had never yet borne fruit. He’d lied, without thinking, and he felt suddenly as if she must know.

All she said, though, was, “Well, I have to go down to the shops. Have you still not abolished rationing for me?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Well, then,” she said. “I may be some time.”

 

Edward walked back into the comparative darkness of the house, still holding the daisy. It caused him to think uncomfortably of his aunt, wondering what she would say if he knew what he had done, and how he was behaving now. She’d probably threaten to wash her hands of him.

He almost wished he could tell her, though. If it weren’t impossible, he felt as if he’d appreciate some sound advice at the moment. Look at last week – running away from Julia one evening, making love to her another. If it was confusing for him, how much more so must it be for her? 

Edward gave a rueful smile. By this time, he didn’t really need to talk to Aunt Daisy to know the sorts of things she would say. He could hear her in his head already: _Well, since you’ve put yourself in this mess, you’d better do something about it. And what is it that you want to happen? What about her, what does she want?_

It wasn’t an insoluble problem: the answers to those two last questions didn’t seem to be too far apart. He of course wanted a whole marriage; he wanted Julia to love him in return. She, with her offers of ‘pretending’ had also implied that she would like to reach that point, too, if it were possible. Presumably, she must think it was.

But how to do that, that was the question. He only knew what he had been doing so far wasn’t the way forward. He had to take some responsibility for his own idea. Hiding was no use; all he would achieve by that in the end was their estrangement. Nothing could grow between them, if he shut himself away from her. He must at least try to win her over – allow them more time together, taking her out when he could. There was nothing to stop them.

It still alarmed him, though. He didn’t want to get it wrong, to put unfair pressure on her when she’d never promised him anything more than this. He had a morbid horror of the idea. She’d already agreed to more than he had any right to ask, and there was no guarantee that love would ever come. He couldn’t forget that.

Underneath it all lay the lurking fear of her motives, but then he thought, with wry amusement, if he was living with the enemy, all the more reason to try and win her over, make it harder for her to betray him. It remained an unpalatable notion, though: he didn’t want to think of Julia as an enemy agent to be turned.

Still, thought Edward, he had to do something, so he went and hunted out the papers and looked through the theatre listings, showing them to Julia later, after dinner. “There isn’t very much on at the moment, but if there’s anything that you’d like to see –”

“Oh, yes, let’s,” said Julia, taking the paper from him eagerly. “We should see something more cheerful this time. We should probably stay all the way to the end, too.”

Edward grinned in relief, pleased by her reaction, and by her reference to the time he’d taken her to the theatre in Paris. “It is considered polite,” he agreed. “Julia, I know I’ve been a little busy lately, but it shouldn’t be so bad now until Parliament is in session again. We should make the most of that.”

“That would be nice,” said Julia, glancing up from the theatre listings again. She gave him a relieved smile, and evidently felt encouraged enough to show him a sample of material she had, that she thought would do beautifully to replace the awful old red curtains now hanging behind him in the dining room. He felt even guiltier over his previous behaviour.

“See?” she was saying, holding the lighter material up to the curtain for him. “Don’t you think that will be so much better?”

“Much,” he said, looking at her instead. “Oh, yes.”

 

_VII. viscaria, red columbine, forget-me-not_

Sometimes Julia felt that Edward waited on purpose to walk in when she was doing something particularly foolish. Last week, when she’d been taking down the curtains, she had spotted dust on the lampshade and had placed a box on top of the chair so that she could reach it to clean it. Of course, he’d walked in immediately, and once she’d climbed down again, proved that he actually could get properly angry, telling her furiously never to do such a thing again, and that he knew she was fully aware of the existence of the stepladder in the cupboard under the stairs, so what was she thinking? A week or two before that, he’d caught her out in the garden making a daisy chain, and now, when she was midway through a rather unsuccessful solo dancing lesson, she halted to find him standing in the doorway with a bemused expression on his face.

“Oh. Hello, Edward,” she said, and hurried across to stop the record.

He leant his head against the door frame, still watching her quizzically. “What are you doing?”

Julia bit back a sigh, and then attempted to explain. “Oh, it was only that I was thinking – there will be formal affairs to attend at some point, and I probably don’t know any number of dances I should. We did learn at school, of course, but mostly country dancing and very old-fashioned things. And then dance halls, but that’s different again, and, anyway, it’s been a while.”

“But if you don’t know a dance, how do you propose to teach it to yourself?”

“Aha!” said Julia, and held up a thin, slightly battered hardback. “I found this today and I was trying it out. It has diagrams. Although, I have to say, they mostly look as if an incompetent criminal has left far too many footprints behind at the scene of crime. And I’m not sure whether the author isn’t always clear, or if she expects me to be a contortionist. But, you see, there is method to my madness.”

Edward took the book from her, and examined it, looking even more amused. When he handed it back, he said, “You did notice that it’s also over twenty years old?”

“One can’t have everything,” said Julia. “And if someone resurrects the Charleston, I shall be fully prepared.”

Edward laughed, and then moved into the room, crossing to the gramophone. Julia found herself suddenly breathless. _Don’t_ , she thought, her heartbeat racing, _don’t, don’t_. She had no reason for her panic, but she didn’t want to dance with him. He wouldn’t, anyway, she told herself. It was Edward; he was probably only going to put the record away in case she forgot.

He didn’t, however. He moved the needle back into place, and held out his hand to her with a brief grin. “You know,” he said, as she took it, and the music crackled into life, “I’m fairly sure that most dancing these days merely goes something like this.” He guided her round the sitting room in a suitably nondescript fashion. “And, you know, Julia, you don’t have to dance anyway.”

“Oh, so you want me to stand in the corner and be talked at by long-winded, pompous politicians all evening?” she countered, trying not to let him see that she was so inexplicably nervous. “I have to have some means of escape, don’t you think?”

Edward inclined his head to one side slightly to look at her. “You know, if this hypothetical event is so very dreadful, you can tell me, and we can make our escape together.”

It was a nice idea, she thought. _Let’s make our escape together, for ever and always_. That was the trouble; that was what was suddenly terrifying her. It shouldn’t, but it wasn’t what she had signed on for; it wasn’t what she had intended. She pulled away sharply, knocking into the gramophone and ending the song with a painful scratching sound.

“Julia?” he said, startled.

She had no explanation. “I’m sorry,” she said as steadily as she could manage. “I can’t – I can’t do this.” And then, trying to maintain her composure, she walked past him and out of the door, before fleeing up the stairs.

She leant against the bedroom door, shaking. It wasn’t really that she hadn’t wanted him to dance with her, she knew, feeling sick. She and he, here, being foolish together, so close – she felt for a moment that she would be happy to stay that way forever if she could. It wasn’t anything different or new, she realised, she’d just always had an excuse until now if she felt dismayed when Edward was away, or if she enjoyed being with him. And this – this was not what was supposed to happen, not so soon. She couldn’t do this.

Happiness, she knew, was a thing that the universe took away from you the moment it noticed you had it. She’d been trying to walk a middle path, between the loneliness and the risk of reaching for something she couldn’t afford to lose. She had been playing a game, staying where it was safe. Maybe it had been a little awkward, even a little painful here and there, but that was fine. The fates didn’t get jealous of such things; they wouldn’t instantly know she had someone to lose and steal him away.

She’d thought, eventually, she could learn to love Edward; slowly, undramatically, and, most importantly, _not yet_. She’d cheerfully fooled herself as to the state of her emotions. She couldn’t say when they had changed; maybe it always was impossible to pin down, or maybe she’d lied to herself from the start. She’d rationalised her feelings for him, continually overlooking the obvious. It helped of course that she’d already learnt from Michael that the physical side of things didn’t necessarily involve love. No doubt it was a lesson Edward had also learned from Caroline, and maybe even from someone else along the way. It wasn’t a true lesson, though, she thought. They should both unlearn it. Everything she had with Edward was not separate – that, and all the small mundane moments, the acts of kindness, disagreements, their feelings - all of it added up to an indivisible whole, and that whole was love, or as near as made no difference.

And love wasn’t a game, thought Julia, closing her eyes. None of this was, but she simply couldn’t face the truth yet.

“Julia,” said Edward, on the other side of the door. “Are you all right?”

She shook herself. “Go away,” she said, the panic rising within her again. 

“I would,” said Edward, “but I’d also like to get changed, so –”

Julia sighed to herself, and pulled open the door. “Go ahead,” she said. “I really should go downstairs and see to the dinner anyway.”

“Julia,” he said, trying to catch hold of her arm as she moved past. “Please –”

She shook him off. “Don’t!” she said, again. “Please just – don’t! I said – I can’t do this, not now.”

She walked away, and got halfway down the stairs, before a thought occurred to her, and then she retraced her steps to pause in the doorway of the bedroom. “Edward,” she said. “I didn’t mean – I’m not going anywhere.” Then she managed a smile. “Except downstairs to make the dinner.”

Edward looked up and then avoided her gaze, though he gave her a nod, and she knew she’d been right to return; that she had scared him. She’d lost her family, one after the other, but Edward had had his first marriage go suddenly wrong without warning.

Julia headed back downstairs again. She wished she could have stayed in the sitting room, dancing with him; that she could have given them both what they wanted, but she couldn’t yet. It was silly to be so superstitious, but she felt sure it was tempting fate: the roof would have fallen in on them.

 

_VIII. red chrysanthemum, ambrosia, red tulip_

Julia stopped by a flower stall on the way home, struck by an idea as she looked at the roses and chrysanthemums and the rest.

“Just the thing to brighten up the house,” said the stallholder, watching her. “Go on.”

Julia looked up with a smile. “Yes,” she agreed. “I was only thinking – do you know about the language of flowers? All very Victorian and sentimental, I think, but my mother used to tell me their meanings. I was trying to remember some, but it was too long ago and I’ve completely forgotten.”

“Bit old-fashioned for most people,” he said, “but I know what you mean. What was it you were thinking of?”

She touched the leaves of the nearest rose. “Which flower for ‘love’? One of these roses, I suppose?”

“Could be,” said the man, “but it depends on the colour.”

Julia laughed. “Red,” she said, making a guess that she thought couldn’t be wrong.

“Oh, no. Shame,” he said and grinned at her. 

Julia studied the nearest red rose. “Oh, well, that, too, I think,” she said. Yes, shame for her selfishness and attempts to take the easiest way out, and her failure to embrace the truth. She should certainly add a deeply embarrassed rose to the bunch. “But then which do I want?”

“Well, plenty,” he said. “A red tulip’d do, but you won’t get any of those now. How about a nice red ‘mum? That’s for love, too.”

Julia nodded. “I seem to remember they weren’t all good meanings. I should be careful – I wouldn’t want to choose an insult by accident. Or maybe I should. How about ‘you’re impossible’ or ‘you’ll be the death of me’ or –?”

“Ah,” he said, “think that’s hemlock. You won’t be getting that off me.”

Julia raised her eyebrows. “Goodness, no,” she said. “That’s much more literal and sinister than I had in mind.”

“Like you say, it’s not all roses and compliments,” he told her. “You can even throw in a few vegetables if I remember rightly. Tell somebody they’re cold – send ‘em a lettuce.”

“Really?” Julia had to laugh again. “An iceberg, I suppose. Do you think anybody ever did?”

“Well, it’s not every insult you can make a salad out of,” he said, giving a pleased grin at his own joke. “Could be worse.”

Julia nodded. “Yes. Now, do help me out here – what else should I choose?”

 

The flowers weren’t really a message. Julia knew that Edward would never notice them, and even if he did, he wouldn’t think to look for significance in a bouquet. She arranged them in the vase, and kissed the rose of shame, careless of its thorns as she grasped the stem.

They were a promise to herself that she would find ways to tell him her feelings. She wasn’t ready to do so aloud yet; it was still too strange to her. Her fears had subsided, but they hadn’t gone, lurking in the corners of her mind. And, rationally, she had to ask herself now, away from the emotion of the moment, away from Edward, if she was sure of what she felt, whether or not it would last, or if it was only loneliness that had caused her to respond so swiftly to his companionship, to his touch. She suspected that it didn’t matter now if it had been; it wasn’t how love began that was important in the end.

Still, she had to be sure. It was no longer a game – it never had been a game – and she had already hurt him by pushing him away that afternoon. The incident had ostensibly been forgotten, and they had continued working their way forward, but he remained wary. It had also occurred to her since that even had she stayed with him then, even if she’d told him the truth, he might not have believed her. Unreal as it seemed, she had a more pragmatic reason to be here and while she forgot that all too easily, she felt unhappily sure that Edward didn’t.

So, she’d start with these flowers and she’d try everything else but words until she was ready. Maybe that would be enough; she hoped it would be, but she wouldn’t tell him she loved him until she knew it wasn’t a lie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the flower meanings (bar one) came from [The Illustrated Language of Flowers](https://books.google.co.uk/books?id=6FIDAAAAQAAJ&printsec=frontcover&dq=language+of+flowers&hl=en&sa=X&ei=dhdfVeT4N4ONsgHk9IDoDA&ved=0CEkQ6AEwBQ#v=onepage&q=language%20of%20flowers&f=false) by Anna Christian Burke (1856; via Google).
> 
> Key: sprig of ivy (fidelity, marriage), bud of the white rose (heart ignorant of love), love lies bleeding (hopeless, not heartless)
> 
> house leek (domestic industry), sage (domestic virtue), coriander (hidden worth)
> 
> french marigold (jealousy), jonquil (I desire a return of love), garden anemone (forsaken)  
> white poppy (sleep/my bane, my antidote), bramble (envy/remorse) white clover (think of me)
> 
> lily-of-the-valley (return of happiness), spanish jasmine (sensuality), dog rose (pleasure & pain)
> 
> garden daisy (I share your sentiments), flowering almond (hope), purple columbine (resolved to win)
> 
> viscaria (will you dance with me?), red columbine (anxious & trembling), forget-me-not (true love)
> 
> red chrysanthemum (love), ambrosia (love returned), red tulip (declaration of love).


	29. Homecoming (G, 1949: Edward Iveson/Julia Graves)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward Iveson had never considered his life to be especially dull, but he’s beginning to believe he was wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> early September 1949; Edward Iveson/Julia Graves.
> 
> Prompts: White Chocolate #2 (boredom)

Edward Iveson had never considered his life to be especially dull, even if other people sometimes made it plain that they did. Of course he’d been bored on occasion, just as everybody was, and he wasn’t going to pretend that he hadn’t hoped to marry again as much as a few other interested people had seemed to think he should. But now when he looked back on the time before marrying Julia, he was appalled at the idea of returning to that state. In comparison, suddenly, he did think it must have been dull, and certainly far too lonely. Even earlier in the war, when the activity and moments of heightened excitement had disguised that, it had also intensified his isolation. There was so much he could never tell anyone without breaking the Official Secrets Act.

Most of his work in the service had been paperwork, information gathering, interspersed with interviews of captured spies and even one or two moments of danger. He’d come home to a small, empty flat – this house had been rented out and had been ever since soon after Caroline had left him. The war had made it more difficult to travel; even getting back to Kent to see his family could become too difficult to manage on such a regular basis as before. He’d finally been able to visit his mother after their long estrangement, but she had been so unwell that it was also a source of pain and reason for self-reproach that he’d left it so long.

In contrast, now he never knew what he would find when he walked through the front door. He smiled at the thought, his mind wandering from the report he was supposed to be reading.

Take last week, for instance. It had been a rather more unexpected week than most, but few days were identical any more. On Monday, he had arrived home to find a quiet, domestic scene, with Julia listening to the radio while the dinner cooked in the oven. On Tuesday, he had returned to find her kneeling on the floor in the hallway with her ear to the wainscoting and impeding his opening the door. She had pulled herself up and claimed that she thought she’d heard a mouse, although she hoped not, and what did he think? And a few minutes later, Edward found himself in pretty much the same position she’d occupied, listening for a mouse which seemed, thankfully, to be entirely non-existent.

On Wednesday, she had evidently been embarrassed enough by Tuesday to stage a performance as the perfect housewife, but Edward had foiled her. He’d been waylaid at the Foreign Office by a conscientious under-secretary with a query and had spent nearly an hour trying to find someone who could help and who was actually still in their office. When Edward made it home, he was two and half hours late and Julia had given his dinner away because, as she told him, she knew if he was that late, he must be with Mr Harding and Mr Harding invariably took him for dinner at his club when that happened.

Edward had been somewhat puzzled as to how exactly she’d managed to find anyone to give it away to in that time, but apparently Nancy had popped round and hadn’t eaten yet, so Julia had offered her what was left.

“It seemed such a shame to waste it,” Julia had said and after stifling amusement, she had turned guilt-stricken and rushed round to find some soup and tinned potatoes that could be spared to feed him while Edward hadn’t been able to resist telephoning Nancy to tell her that she now owed him a dinner. (Nancy had told him that if didn’t have anything else to say, he should get off the line and go and do something more useful than pestering her.)

Edward had then promised Julia that he would take her out for dinner on Thursday to make up for not letting her know where he was, but when he arrived home the next day, there was at first no sign of her, until he heard a muffled shout and knocking from upstairs, and found she had somehow locked herself in the spare room.

“I _told_ you that lock was faulty,” she had said through the door. “Now, do please go and find a screwdriver and get me out. The hinges are on your side.”

Edward had obliged, although once he had returned and set to work on the hinges, which had unfortunately been painted over several times over the years, he had to ask why she’d decided to lock herself in there.

“I was testing the lock,” she had said, after a pause.

Edward had been working on the topmost screw. “And you didn’t think to do that from outside the room?”

“I was in here, painting the window sill and I just thought – oh, I know it was silly, but I didn’t really think it would completely _go_ like that. I wanted to see what was wrong with it, and show you that I wasn’t imagining things.”

Edward had been unable to stop laughing, too much so to work on the hinges, until he finally managed to pull himself together again. “I believe you now, I promise.”

“Thank you,” she had said, although she didn’t sound especially grateful. “Can’t you hurry up? I’ve been in here for well over an hour – it might be two by now. Honestly, I’m sure Sir Lancelot wouldn’t have taken this long to rescue someone. If there was a dragon in here with me, I’d be dead by now.”

Edward had grinned to himself on the other side. “Well, I suspect he’d have charged straight through the door on his horse and not worried about unscrewing the hinges, but I wouldn’t mess with your nice paintwork in such an inconsiderate way.”

“Beast,” she’d said, but he’d heard her stifle a laugh. “Stop talking and get on with it!”

 

And of course, once he’d got the door off the hinges, it had been even later still, and he’d had to telephone and cancel the booking at the restaurant while they wound up instead buying fish and chips at the one chip shop they could find open at that odd hour. He’d wanted to say something again, about how glad he was to have her there, even as they were, but he wasn’t sure it wasn’t stepping over the line they’d set for themselves.

Nevertheless, as he packed up his papers and contemplated how long it was before he set off home, he couldn’t help wondering what he’d find waiting for him today. He grinned again at the thought. Even on the occasions when it was something annoying, or that ought to have been annoying, it was miles better than the silent, hollow evenings of only a month or two ago.


	30. Under the Surface (G, 1949: Julia Graves, Diana Foyle, Caroline Sheldon)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Navigating society alone is tricky, Julia finds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> October 1949; Julia Iveson, Diana Foyle, Caroline Sheldon. (Julia gets to meet Caroline.)
> 
> Prompts: Passionfruit #10 (To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet), Papaya #3 (I smell a rat)
> 
> None/Warning: references to divorce.

Julia had been married for nearly three months now and she had been to various society events of all kinds and sizes during that time. She’d hosted her own reception and one or two dinner parties, too, so she couldn’t be said not to have been introduced to society yet, or at least the political corner of it. Edward had originally claimed that he could use a wife to help him in his career and while she knew now that wasn’t really the truth, still she kept her side of the bargain by playing that role as faultlessly as she could manage.

However, what had not yet grown any less awkward was navigating events without Edward, which happened more and more frequently now. She was known and she received invitations to tea, or to coffee mornings, or charity events, all sorts of things. Sometimes she knew people there, like Mrs Morley, the wife of the Foreign Secretary, or even on very odd occasions, Edward’s relatives, but she could only talk to them for so long, especially when it was someone like Elaine Morley. She wasn’t entirely unfamiliar with these sorts of social circles – her father had owned a newspaper, and her Mother had been something of a society butterfly – but other than the occasional older guest who would tell her that he or she had known one or both of her parents, it only served to demonstrate how much of an uncrossable line had been drawn through her life.

Everything was further complicated by gossip. She rarely heard it directly, but she caught the echoes of it, and it was understandable. Her marriage to Edward had been sudden and all but secret, and that was enough in itself to invite speculation. Then, if they knew more, they would go on to talk about Edward’s first marriage, or Julia’s mother. Anyway, they generally concluded, there was certainly something _odd_ about it, and by extension, about them, and Julia in particular. 

She couldn’t help thinking about this again, as Mrs Lloyd, her current hostess, made some unsubtle remarks about someone else’s unwise marriage. Julia was trying not to listen and not be impolite at the same time, when Mrs Lloyd suddenly caught at her arm and said, “Oh, now, I must introduce you to Mrs Sheldon. I’m sure you’ll find you have something in common.”

Julia could hardly protest as Mrs Lloyd led her over, but she could hear something in the other woman’s tone – amusement even, perhaps – that made her wary.

“Mrs Sheldon,” said Mrs Lloyd, “this is Mrs Iveson. Mrs Iveson – Mrs Jack Sheldon.”

Julia gave an uncertain smile and held out her hand to the other woman. She couldn’t see anything about her to justify any odd humour on Mrs Lloyd’s part. She was a slight, dark woman, a few years older than Julia with a wistful prettiness about her. “Pleased to meet you, Mrs Sheldon.”

“That’s very kind of you,” said Mrs Sheldon, taking Julia’s hand, and squeezing it rather than shaking it in her earnestness. “And I’m so glad to meet _you_ at last. I’ve been wanting to ever since I first heard.”

Julia didn’t want to give Mrs Lloyd the sort of reaction she must have been angling for, but she couldn’t quite maintain a façade of polite interest. She blinked, and drew back her hand. “I’m sorry – it’s very nice of you to say so, but I don’t think I understand.”

“I’m Caroline Sheldon,” she said, evidently waiting for Julia to realise the significance of her name, but Julia was too busy wondering if she was somebody famous to think of explanations that were nearer to home. “Oh, dear,” Mrs Sheldon added, with a glance at Mrs Lloyd, who’d ostensibly moved to talk to a nearby group of guests. “You _didn’t_ know. I was once – also Mrs Iveson.”

“Oh!” Julia coloured in embarrassment, and had no problem now in understanding what Mrs Lloyd had been up to, although really, she thought, didn’t people have anything better to do? “Of course. I wasn’t thinking.”

Caroline leant forward and took her hand again, and Julia wished she wouldn’t. She knew about Caroline, of course, but it was rather disconcerting to find her an actual person standing in front of her. Caroline didn’t seem to be bothered by the encounter, though. She met Julia’s gaze with an earnest dark blue gaze and said, “I was so pleased to hear the news. I’m sure you must – well, you must think very little of me, of course, but I always hoped so much that Edward would find someone else, too. It seemed so very unfair – it’s _haunted_ me all these years.”

“Caroline,” said a new voice, as another woman joined them. She was probably about Caroline’s age, but fair-haired and impeccably dressed, and she gave Julia a disarmingly charming smile. “Forgive me, but I must steal Mrs Sheldon from you. Caroline, my dear, Sir Lionel has just turned up and he’s on the point of one of his tantrums, and I know you can always bring him round. If you would, I’d be eternally grateful.”

Caroline nodded and left them, after pausing to say goodbye to Julia.

The newcomer then turned back to Julia, giving her another smile, this one rather more mischievous, unexpected in someone so classically beautiful. “There,” she said. “I had a feeling that you were in need of rescuing. Anne Lloyd is a cat, and fond as I am of Caroline, she can be so very – well, _Caroline_ at times!” 

“It was only – unexpected,” said Julia as politely as she could.

“Oh,” her new acquaintance added, “and I’m Diana Foyle, by the way. I’m one of those unnatural creatures, you know – a lady MP!”

Julia had to smile. “Mrs Foyle? I think I’ve heard my husband mention you.”

“Really?” said Diana. “How sweet of Edward. I hope he said something nice, and then that will serve as an introduction. I wanted to speak to you last week but I didn’t think I could.”

Julia raised an eyebrow, since Diana didn’t seem particularly shy. “Really?”

“Oh,” said Diana, “a much-needed intervention is one thing – a stranger descending on one and uttering dire warnings about the previous stranger you met is another, isn’t it?”

“Dire warnings?”

Diana took her arm, and guided her towards a corner. “I saw you talking to Daphne Elson. My dear, avoid her like the plague, and don’t accept any of her invitations.”

“Yes, I do see exactly what you mean,” said Julia, unable to help sounding chilly.

Diana pulled a wry face. “Of course you do. Mrs Iveson, I didn’t mean –” She halted and frowned around at the crowded room. “Oh, damn all these people, and I haven’t got the time to stop anyway! I only came to have a word with Sir Lionel, and much good it did me. He nearly ate me.” She tightened her hold on Julia’s arm. “You don’t need to stay here, do you? Come with me to the House, and I can talk to you along the way.”

Julia hesitated, feeling that she ought to protest, and then realised that there was no earthly reason why she should. If she stayed here, not only was it a tedious event, but she would no doubt have to put up with more malice from Mrs Lloyd or someone like her – and very likely Caroline would come back across and start being earnestly nice at her again. It didn’t bear thinking about. 

“I don’t see why not,” she said.

 

“You see, you’re new,” said Diana, sitting next to Julia as their cab crawled through central London. She took a puff of her cigarette, instantly contradicting Julia’s mother’s rather old-fashioned insistence that smoking was unfeminine. “Oh, I know, I know. I sound tedious and patronising, but it’s true. And that’s the problem. Things look calm enough on the surface, just a few odd instances of marine life you need to avoid, but underneath, my dear, there are sharks.”

“Isn’t that unlikely in England?” Julia couldn’t resist asking.

Diana eyed her sternly. “Don’t ruin my metaphor. But if you won’t have that, then any sort of predator you like – or just hidden rocks and currents, if you’d rather. Some of them, like Anne Lloyd are just bored and malicious, but others are out for what they want and don’t care about anything else – money, political advantage, whatever it is. The point is, I can be a very useful guide to sea life, if you’d let me. And in the meantime, _not_ Daphne Elson!”

“Oh?” said Julia. She hadn’t taken any particular liking to Mrs Elson, but she’d suffered too much from other people’s gossip to accept that without explanation.

Diana gave her a sharp look. “Oh, I’m not being malicious. She’s very definitely a predator, believe me. You can ask Jack Sheldon if you don’t.”

“Ask –?” Julia blinked at what seemed to her to be an inexplicable change of subject – and a very unlikely suggestion, too.

“I’m sorry. Somehow I thought you would know. He’s someone terribly important at Scotland Yard these days.”

“No,” said Julia, feeling rather small. She hadn’t known, and for some reason, it made the whole tale as she knew it seem even more improbable on hearing that the third party was a policeman. She hadn’t known she was entirely likely to run into Caroline at any moment, either. 

Diana patted her hand. “And why should you? Silly of me. Anyway, that’s what I was trying to say: it’s not just that you’re new – you’re a natural target. You don’t know very many people; there’s money, talk, and Edward is becoming a bit of a rising star in the party these days. Do you see what I mean? You should both be careful.”

Indeed, thought Julia with private amusement, glancing out of the window, there could be secret agents all around, too. “I do see,” she said. “Thank you. I think.”

“And Mrs Elson,” said Diana, “has card parties sometimes that have very high stakes, and the police think she’s involved with drugs, all that sort of thing. All I’m saying is be wary, and if you have common sense, use it.” She gave Julia a close look as the cab finally pulled into Parliament Square. “I think you do, which is good, as at least one person in a marriage should.”

Julia bit back a retort, hampered from defending Edward by the fact that they both had to get out of the cab. She merely looked at Diana once they were standing together on the pavement. “Then probably I shouldn’t have agreed to come with you.”

“I,” said Diana, “am obviously harmless, at least to the people on my side of the political boundaries.” She patted Julia’s arm in farewell. “Tell Edward that I expect both of you to come round to dinner soon – if you would like to.”

Julia had to smile. “I will,” she promised, and then watched Diana disappear into the gothic building that was so familiar from pictures and films that it was always almost a surprise to find it was real. She thought about following and going into the public gallery to see if she could spot Edward, if he was in there, but then turned away and walked along the Embankment instead, thinking about Diana’s friendly warning.

She had a point, of course, Julia thought, but in the light of the truth it was also ironic. However, being cautious until she knew the ropes was only sensible – it took time in any new place to learn who to avoid, what not to volunteer for, who was the biggest bore, and who the worst gossip. And she hadn’t planned to accept Mrs Elson’s invitation anyway.

She had to admit, she was more disturbed by meeting Caroline, especially since Caroline had seemed so genuinely pleased to see her. It was, she decided, the outside of enough for her not only to be around, but to be _nice_. She could at least have the decency to be properly awful. And, really, Edward could have warned her, couldn’t he? He probably thought something like that wasn’t important. Julia supposed maybe she should have worked out for herself that Caroline wouldn’t have vanished into the ether ten years ago, but she had, if she’d considered it at all, vaguely pictured Caroline living in a cottage somewhere in the country, not still very much in evidence and married to a member of the Metropolitan Police.

Still, Julia thought, she would be careful, and she would continue to be polite – and whatever else she did, she would never let on that in a small way, she was herself one of the sharks.


	31. Goes Without Saying (PG, 1949: Edward Iveson/Julia Graves)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julia has regrets, and a wish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> October 1949. Just a small thing that pretty much follows on from _Under the Surface_ (and comes shortly before _Sent to Coventry_ ). Julia Graves/Edward Iveson.
> 
> Prompts: Chocolate #7 (regret), Papaya #17 (talking to myself)
> 
> Notes: references to alcoholism & someone else's unhappy marriage.

“We have an invitation to dinner,” Julia said, looking up from the washing up as Edward carried in the rest of the dirty dishes. “It’s for Friday. Will that be convenient?”

Edward picked up a tea towel and spent a while seemingly examining it. “Oh?” he said, eventually, reaching for one of the glasses to dry. “And before I answer, who is it from?”

“That’s very underhand,” she said. “Anyway, it’s from Mrs Foyle. We met yesterday, and she sent round the invitation today, and I _would_ like –” She stopped, glancing over at him, wondering if he was even listening. He was frowning at the tea towel again. “Edward? I can refuse, of course, if it isn’t all right.”

“Oh, yes,” he said, suddenly snapping back to attention. “Of course. She must have taken a liking to you, I think. She doesn’t hand out invitations to just anyone.”

Julia smiled at the unexpected compliment, but Edward looked away again, drying some cutlery. Something was distracting him, she thought, but it could easily be work and politics again, and not the matter of the invitation. Still, she turned towards him, waiting, feeling that he was hesitating on the edge of saying something, when the telephone rang. Edward disappeared to answer it, as Julia tipped out the water and dried her hands. A few minutes later, she heard the study door shut and she sighed. Something had cropped up, evidently.

She stepped out of the kitchen and stood there alone on the parquet flooring of the hallway, listening to the clock strike the quarter of the hour. She shivered slightly, feeling cold, and wondered again, as she couldn’t help doing lately, if she’d done the right thing in marrying Edward.

She should, she thought, go into his study now and tell him that she didn’t like being ignored – tell him how her feelings had changed since they’d met, but she stopped there too long, and couldn’t. It wasn’t part of the agreement, was it? The other thing was, she was beginning to realise, was that she didn’t want to tell him, she wanted him to know without being told. How she felt must surely be obvious; if he took no notice of that in everything she said and did, what good was it to stand there and spell it out to him?

Julia sighed again, and went into the sitting room to listen to the radio, which never failed to talk to her when she switched it on, and certainly didn’t wander off elsewhere, seemingly forgetting she was there.

 

The Foyles didn’t live very far from the Ivesons, so Julia and Edward had walked over there, and now they were making their way back, Julia thoughtful. She understood now what Edward had been on the point of warning her about. The evening had not been very easy, despite Diana’s best efforts.

“He was drunk, wasn’t he?” she said, keeping her voice low, even though there was no one else around in the fog.

Edward looked at her and nodded. “It’s very unusual for him not to be.”

Julia could believe that. Stephen Foyle held his drink well; it somehow made his state throughout the evening more alarming rather than less. Diana had said, when she fetched Julia her coat, that she was sorry, but he usually went out when she invited people around: they had an arrangement. Julia had only said all the usual sort of things, that it was quite all right, and tried to hide her embarrassment behind her winter coat as Diana helped her put it on. 

She still couldn’t think what to say now. “How awful,” she said, in the end, and then thought it sounded too much like a schoolgirl’s reaction. “I wouldn’t have thought she’d put up with it.” She hesitated again and glanced up at Edward. “Why was he –?”

“I don’t know,” said Edward. “Think it might be something of a family tradition.”

Julia frowned at him. 

“Well, I _don’t_ know,” he said. “There could be any number of reasons, or none. There’s not much point in me speculating about it, is there? As to Diana, I don’t know, either, but she would hardly want a scandal. I think they tend to agree to disagree these days, so I don’t know what possessed him tonight.”

Julia tightened her hold on his arm as they walked along, hugging it to her for a moment, feeling that their current state of affairs suddenly looked much nicer by comparison. Edward might have a tendency to cut himself off sometimes, but she couldn’t imagine him ever behaving like Stephen Foyle. “Still,” she said, in response, and felt even more grateful when he merely nodded without needing her to elaborate.

She hovered on the edge of saying something to him now. What they had was a hundred times better than Stephen goading Diana across the dinner table in front of guests, but she did wonder what sort of a wreck they could come to if she didn’t confront him soon, what with Edward politely ignoring her so as not to bother her, and her getting annoyed about it. She just also didn’t want to ruin what they had built up so far with something he might easily see as a lie. She drew in her breath to make the attempt, but it was then that it started to rain; an abrupt and heavy storm.

“Oh, no,” said Edward, turning toward her in immediate concern. “Julia, I am sorry. We should have taken a cab after all.”

Julia had to laugh. “I have a coat, you know, and it’s hardly very far. I shan’t melt away, I promise.”

“I should have at least brought my umbrella.”

“Edward!” Julia couldn’t stop laughing. “I don’t mind the rain – not so near to home, anyway. If you’re worried – well, we could run!”

 

Inside the hallway, as Edward shut the front door behind them, Julia leant against the wall and laughed, a little out of breath. “One day,” she told him, “when you’re terribly important, we won’t be able to do things like that.”

He grinned as he helped her off with her sodden coat, and she removed her hat that had proved rather more decorative than protective. “We might. If London stays foggy enough.”

Julia removed her shoes, and followed him upstairs. She thought again, a little later, sitting in front of the small fireplace in the bedroom, towelling her hair dry, that what they had wasn’t bad, not at all. And when Edward said, “Let me,” and took the towel from her, she leant back against him and told herself that he must know; how could he _not_ know? She told him all the time.


	32. Hit and Miss (PG, 1949: Edward Iveson/Julia Graves, Nancy Long, Amyas Harding, Mrs Crosbie)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julia is finding her place in Edward’s world – and losing Edward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sept-Nov 1949; Julia Graves/Edward Iveson, Nancy Long, Amyas Harding, Mrs Crosbie.
> 
> Prompts: White Chocolate #9 (devotion), Prune #20 (if you love someone, set them free) + Brownie + Gummy Bunnies (also for Trope Bingo square “poor communication skills”)

“You don’t mind, do you?” said Nancy, when Julia met her outside a café, as arranged. “It seems strange that we barely know you, so I thought I’d do something about it.”

Julia shook her head, remembering in time not to confess to Edward’s cousin how bored and lonely she had been feeling before Nancy had telephoned. Most likely Nancy wouldn’t think anything of it, but Julia was very conscious of the fact that she and Edward had made a marriage of convenience, and that the progress they had made over the two months since then seemed now to be slipping away into nothing. She followed Nancy across to a free table and sat down. 

“Oh, no, I was glad,” Julia said, with a smile. “You’re quite right – we ought to know each other a little better.”

“Good,” said Nancy briskly, and set about ordering tea and toasted teacakes. “I suppose it must seem odd, being back here.”

Julia paused to consider it. “I don’t know. I think only in how little it’s changed, despite how long it’s felt for me. I somehow thought they’d have rebuilt more – and that rationing would have ended by now.”

“Soon, hopefully,” said Nancy. “Otherwise there might finally be a revolution. It is starting to improve, though.”

The waitress brought the tea over and Julia dutifully poured it for the both of them.

“I remember you, you know,” Nancy said, as she took her steaming cup. “From when you were quite small, I mean. My mother used to visit yours and I went with her sometimes.”

Julia looked up from buttering her tea-cake. “I suppose you would have done. I don’t remember, though, I’m afraid. I’m quite hopeless – most things before I was about eight or nine are beyond me – a complete blank. You’d think I’d had a traumatic childhood, and I didn’t.”

“Well, it was a long time ago,” said Nancy, “and I was a good deal older, of course. I’m not all that memorable, anyway. Still,” she added, “it’s funny, isn’t it? You running into Edward out there.”

Julia thought about that day in Berlin and couldn’t quite manage to smile at any part of it even now. “No, not funny,” she said.

“Yes, what a stupid thing to say,” said Nancy. “You’ll have to forgive me. I didn’t mean it like that. We were all terribly sorry to hear about Hanne. We all liked her – my mother and my Aunt Elizabeth – Edward’s mother, I should say – had been friends with her for years, and she was always kind to us children.”

Julia nodded. “Oh, I know. I simply can’t talk about it sensibly yet. I’m sorry.”

“No, no,” said Nancy. “Stupid of me. You don’t want to wind up blubbing in public. Shall I make up for it by telling you tales of Edward’s wicked past?”

Julia had to laugh. “Does he have one? I find that hard to believe.”

“Well, we did break into some poor old lady’s house once and scare her half to death,” said Nancy. “Although, to be fair, that, like most trouble we fell into, was more my fault than Ned’s.”

Julia put down her tea cup and gave Nancy a more serious look. “Actually, there’s something else I need to know, and I don’t want to ask Edward, because he –” She paused. “I don’t mean to sound underhand – it’s just that he never talks about his mother and I’d like to know something so I don’t put my foot in it.”

“No, I understand,” said Nancy. “He doesn’t talk about Aunt Elizabeth, not even to us. To be honest, none of us know the whole truth, including Ned, and I expect that’s part of the trouble. The short version, as far as I’m concerned, is that her second husband was a bastard and wouldn’t have Edward in the house. Why she didn’t just leave him, I don’t know, but things were different back then, I suppose.”

“Poor Edward,” Julia said, and couldn’t help blaming his mother silently, no matter what sort of person she’d married. Sometimes she didn’t feel she had known her own mother well, but she felt certain that Hanne would never have accepted that sort of arrangement.

Nancy grimaced. “It wasn’t much fun all round, let’s say.”

“No,” murmured Julia, glancing down, before looking up again with a smile. “What was that other tale you mentioned?”

Nancy laughed. “Perhaps it isn’t fair to give you ammunition.”

“Oh, I would only use it at great need,” said Julia. “Besides, you’ve no idea of the disadvantages I’m labouring under.”

 

She returned home to find Edward in the hallway, leaning on the sideboard, writing a note. He had his coat on, so he was evidently in a hurry. 

“Edward,” she said, shutting the door behind her, and giving an immediate smile. “Oh. You’re not going out again, are you?”

He nodded, pushing the now unnecessary paper and pen aside, and moving forward to kiss her briefly on the cheek before reaching for his hat. “I’m afraid so, but I was thinking that perhaps we could go somewhere tonight. The theatre, maybe, or whatever you would prefer. If you like.”

“Of course,” said Julia. “Although, I wonder – did you have anything particular in mind to see?”

Edward shook his head.

“Then would you mind terribly if we went to the cinema instead? I’d rather, this time – if that’s not too plebeian for you.” It was an unfair addition, she knew. It didn’t really allow him the option of refusing, but she felt suddenly wary of the formality of a trip to a restaurant and theatre. She was good at overcoming such restrictions, but she felt now that it would be easy to spend all evening with him and barely be close at all.

He already had the door ajar. “Of course. Whatever you want – I don’t mind. I won’t be late, I promise, but I must go.” With that, he put his hat on and dashed down the steps, out onto the street.

Julia bit back a sudden feeling of loneliness and picked up the half-written note. There had been a lot of these lately – far too many, in her opinion – and not enough talking to each other.

It was her own fault, of course. She’d made a very odd marriage of convenience with a man who was more than half in love with her, even if he’d been reluctant to admit it. On top of that, she had, sometime soon after, fallen in love with him herself, and then panicked at the realisation at entirely the wrong moment. It was no wonder Edward had been so tentative with her since, when she’d all but run away from him in terror that afternoon. He was always careful to speak to her, to ask her out, to give them something to build from, but he had pulled back from that place of relative intimacy, retreated into the spare bedroom most nights, and spent longer away from the house. He was giving her space and time when it was the last thing she wanted.

She should say something, of course, but she doubted herself too much. Was it even love, what she felt? She’d never been here before, so she couldn’t be sure, and it didn’t feel very romantic. Was she supposed to feel so scared of everything? She liked to think of herself as reasonably brave, but here she was, scared of admitting the truth to Edward, in case it wasn’t the truth, or he didn’t believe her and she wrecked even what they did have.

Still, she told herself, determined not to fall into being silly and maudlin, maybe tonight would be the night that things would work out and he would look at her and see how she felt and she wouldn’t even need to say it.

 

“One of these days,” said Julia as she walked along in the lamplight and fog, her arm through Edward’s, “we should go and see a decent film.”

Edward grinned down at her. “Wouldn’t that spoil the fun?”

“I think we could risk it,” Julia said, as they arrived at the fish and chip shop; the port of call for virtually everyone at some point these days, just because they were one of the few things that had never been subject to rationing. They took them back home and ate them in the kitchen like contraband, because naturally one couldn’t eat in the street and it was best to keep the smell of salt and vinegar and fish out of the dining room.

Julia folded up the newspaper they’d come wrapped in for use as scrap paper and turned to see Edward looking at her. She smiled back and stepped back from the work surface to bend down and kiss his head.

“You have the perfect act down pat for everything, don’t you?” he said, suddenly. “One for society functions, one for the home, one for this. It’s very impressive.”

It was such an unexpected and, as far as she knew, uncharacteristic, thrust, that Julia could only stand there and look at him, lost for words, feeling almost as if he’d struck her. She did have a tendency to take on roles rather as if they were a game, but that was only a joke, really, and one that she didn’t take very far. Tonight she had been nothing but herself and she was disconcerted to find that Edward couldn’t seem to see the difference. She was sure he had before.

“I’m sorry,” he said, hastily, as he rose from his chair. “I didn’t mean – that was unfair of me.”

“Yes, it _was_. I only thought it was a nice evening,” she told him, moving past him to the door. “That was all. Now, excuse me.”

Edward made a move forward and then stopped. “Julia. Truly, I _am_ sorry. Please –”

“Darling,” she said, raising her chin and gathering her pride as she pulled the kitchen door open, “if I’m putting on an act, then at least have the decency to let me make my exit on cue.”

 

II. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Julia, on finding Mrs Crosbie, their daily help, hunting around in the kitchen for one of the saucepans. “I’ve been rearranging some of the cupboards. It’s over here.”

Mrs Crosbie took it from her, and then, after a pause, said, “Well, it is your kitchen, Mrs Iveson, and it’s overdue for a good sorting out. I’ve thought so for a while, but that’s not really what I’m here for.”

“I didn’t want to change too much in case it upset your ways of working,” said Julia. “But if you don’t mind, then I shall have a good go at the place this week.”

“Like I said, Mrs Iveson, it’s your kitchen, isn’t it?”

Julia bit back a smile.

“Not that I’m criticising,” added Mrs Crosbie. “You can’t expect a man to trouble himself over this kind of thing, can you?”

“I suppose not,” Julia said, amused. She sometimes still felt unsure of Mrs Crosbie, but she understood now that she didn’t give out compliments cheaply. She’d told Julia variously that she wasn’t afraid of a bit of hard work, that she had some common sense at least, and that Mr Iveson could have done a lot worse. Julia was beginning to realise that these things might translate to nearly an encomium from anyone else. Julia felt guilty about her strange marriage, though, especially with someone like Mrs Crosbie or Edward’s family. She couldn’t help feeling sure that if they knew the truth, they’d hate her for it – and they’d be right to do so.

“Some people are better alone,” said Mrs Crosbie, as she pulled on her apron, looking at Julia. “Others aren’t. I often said to Mr Crosbie – I said, that Mr Iveson, he really ought to find himself a nice wife, that’s what he needs. And see how right I was.”

Julia tried to laugh, but she had to blink away foolish tears that she hoped Mrs Crosbie didn’t notice. “Do you really think so?” she said, unable to help seeking the reassurance. “Do you really think he’s better – happier – with me?”

Mrs Crosbie looked up again, surprised. “Anyone with eyes can see it, Mrs Iveson.”

Julia wanted to ask for the details; she wanted to ask what the difference was, but she knew it would sound too odd. She wondered, though, and why she couldn’t feel sure herself any more. Perhaps, she thought, she didn’t have eyes.

 

Edward hadn’t come back in at all that day. He’d told Julia he had a meeting, and then he had to see Mr Harding and some other people afterwards, and would be most likely eating at Harding’s club. Julia knew by now that meant he would be late, possibly even very late, so there was no point in waiting about downstairs for him to return. 

She was sitting on the bed reading; the book resting on her knees as they were drawn up against her, when she heard noises from downstairs, and glanced up from her novel with a frown. Goodness, she thought, either Edward was being strangely clumsy, or they had an incompetent burglar.

She put down her book, and crept down the stairs in the dark. She’d gone upstairs before it got dark and forgotten to go back down and turn the hall light on for Edward, she realised guiltily, but it was too late to amend matters now. Having reached the hallway and turned on the light, she paused, listening. She didn’t really believe it was a burglar, but it did seem peculiar, and unlike Edward not to call up to her.

Cautiously, she pushed open the living room door and peered inside, at first unable to see anyone, although somebody had pulled the curtains rather carelessly and then she spied Edward lying on the sofa, with an old throw over him.

Julia raised her eyebrows and then moved forward. “Edward, what _are_ you doing?”

He opened his eyes and then unsteadily propped himself into a sitting position, looking up at her. He must be drunk, she realised, even before she smelt the brandy fumes. It wasn’t something he made a habit of, and the only other time had also been on evening spent in Mr Harding’s company. Edward had said then that when it came to Mr Harding it was something of an occupational hazard.

“Sorry,” he said. “Tried not to wake you.”

Julia leant on the back of the sofa, beginning to feel amused. “Edward,” she said. “What time do you think it is?”

“Yes, sorry – late,” he said, waving a hand and hitting the sofa. “You go back up.”

Julia fought to swallow back laughter, leaning further forward. “It’s only a quarter to ten, you know.”

He stared back at her.

“So, darling,” she said, “please do get off the sofa and go to the bathroom, and I’ll make you some tea. Or coffee, I suppose. Or the other way around. You can’t stay there all night. That’s ridiculous.”

He frowned at her. “Are you sure? Thought it was much later – everyone kept talking. All very dull – thought I’d – thought I’d come home.”

Julia had to press her hand to her mouth, but she couldn’t stifle her laughter. “Very sensible,” she said. “The only thing to do, I’m sure.”

The telephone rang and she drew herself up, still amused as she headed out into the hallway to answer it. She picked up the receiver, giving the number. “Primrose Hill 8437.”

“Oh, Mrs Iveson,” said Mr Harding on the other end. “Is your husband there?”

She glanced back towards the living room. “Yes, but he’s not – not available just now. Was it very important?”

“Not at all,” he said. “To be honest, that’s all I wanted to know. He left us earlier without a word and nobody seemed to know quite where he’d gone, so I thought it was best to make sure.”

Julia turned, seeing Edward now leaning against the doorway. “I see. I’d thank you if I didn’t feel I ought to be having stern words with you just now.” Once Harding had apologised again and ended the call, she put down the receiver and looked across at Edward. “That was Mr Harding. He wasn’t sure where you’d got to. Apparently you didn’t tell him or anyone else you were leaving.”

Edward put a hand to his head. “Oh.”

“Yes,” said Julia. “Still, come on, you go up to the bathroom and I’ll make that hot drink.” 

She watched him walk up the stairs and then went into the kitchen, and once she’d set the kettle on the hob, she leant against the worktop and laughed helplessly for a few minutes, being halted finally by the kettle’s impatient whistling.

The important question was, she thought, as she poured out the water into the cups, had Edward come home because he’d had enough of long-winded politicians and other such people, or had he come home to her because he’d wanted to? Whatever the truth, she knew she wouldn’t bring herself to ask. She wasn’t ready yet to hear the answer.

 

III.

Julia was earning her keep tonight, dressed in her very best and standing at Edward’s side, being charming to various politicians, civil servants and their various spouses.

“Who was that?” she murmured as they moved away from the last one. 

He glanced at her in surprise. “That was Mr Fields – the Shadow Chancellor.”

“Ah,” said Julia. “I’d heard you talk about him, but I hadn’t met him before. He looks rather like some bird of prey, doesn’t he? Your lot had better stay in power.”

Edward looked down to hide his amusement. “Julia. And it’s our lot, you know.”

“Of course,” she said, and turned as someone else approached them, prepared to be gracious again, only to see it was Crispin Morley, the Foreign Secretary.

He gave her a smile, having already spoken to her this evening, before turning to Edward, ushering him off to have a word with the Prime Minister. Julia watched them make their way through the crowded reception hall and then held up her head, reminding herself still to play the part she had taken on, but the fun had gone out of it without Edward.

She made her way across towards Elaine Morley, whom she knew a little better than most of the other guests, having met her in Paris, rather than only lately in London. However, before she could reach Mrs Morley, she saw someone else claiming her attention, so she slowed her progress. She came to a halt beside the open French windows and since it was hot inside, Julia stepped out into the chilly evening air.

“Mrs Iveson,” said somebody from beside her as she leant back against the wall, relieved to be out of the crowded room. She gave a sharp start and turned her head to see Amyas Harding, President of the Board of Trade standing there. “It’s a pleasure to see you again. I trust you’ve forgiven me for the other week?”

Julia smiled. “Mr Harding. And I think I might – after all, you can’t really take the blame for that.”

“And no harm done, eh?” said Harding. “I wanted a word with you. I’m unsure how to put this so you that you won’t take offence, but I think I’ll merely have to hope you can forgive me – my motives are reasonably pure, for once.”

Julia studied his face in the shadow. “Whatever it is, you’d better tell me, Mr Harding. That all sounds far too ominous.”

“Yes, well, it’s merely that I’ve taken an interest in Iveson of late, and Morley and I both advised him to marry. Well, I’m sure I need not tell _you_ that – and that he cannot have another failed marriage on his hands, not if he wishes to progress in his career.”

Julia folded her arms against herself, beginning to feel the chill of the night. She’d stayed out here a little too long. “Yes, of course I know – and you needn’t worry. I didn’t marry Edward to make a fool out of him, but I _do_ think it’s very insulting that you think I might.”

“It would be, indeed,” Harding said. “That wasn’t what I was asking. I’ve felt sure enough of that since I met you. However, my dear, it _did_ begin as a convenient arrangement of some kind, didn’t it?”

Julia stared ahead, not wanting to lie, but unable to tell the truth. “It really is none of your business, Mr Harding. Edward would hate to think we’d had this conversation.”

“Quite, quite,” he said, waving a hand. “I do seem to be tackling this rather badly, but what I meant to say was, that since he seems to be a little less devoted to you, should you ever need assistance, I hope you feel you could come to me. It’s in my interest to help your marriage work out, as I said.”

Julia turned to face him in sharp dismay. She shouldn’t let him see her reaction, but it had been so unexpected and to hear her fears voiced aloud, those she kept telling herself were groundless, shook her utterly. She recovered herself, however, and said, “You’re wrong, Mr Harding. I suppose it’s an understandable mistake – Edward _is_ a very private person, and you couldn’t possibly know him as I do.”

“Yes, of course,” murmured Mr Harding, letting her pass. “Very commendable, and you must forgive my tactlessness. However, the offer stands.”

 

Julia walked back inside, shivering from the cold and no longer willing to face hundreds of other guests, all of whom with their polished public facades still intact, while hers, she felt, had slipped and cracked. She searched the crowd for Edward, and was relieved to find him also looking for her, moving across to her as soon as he glimpsed her.

“I’m sorry about that,” he said, and then looked again at her. “Julia, is something wrong?”

She couldn’t explain. “I’d just like to go home, Edward. You needn’t come if Cabinet ministers still want you.”

“They don’t,” said Edward, taking hold of her arm. “Aren’t you feeling well?”

It was such a convenient excuse that she nodded, despite it being untrue, at least in the sense that he meant.

“I’ll take you home,” he said, squeezing her arm before releasing her. “Stay here, while I say make our excuses to the Morleys. I won’t be long.”

Julia gave an unsteady smile, watching him as he went. _You see_ , she told an invisible Mr Harding, _you’re wrong. You couldn’t be more wrong._

 

Back home, Edward helped her off with her coat and wanted to know what was the matter with her, and if she needed any help up the stairs. Julia felt an abrupt pang of guilt at his sympathetic queries. She shouldn’t have lied, even in the smallest way, she thought, not with the way things were between them. “Edward,” she blurted out, “I’m not ill! I lied. I – I only wanted to come home.”

“Julia?”

She took the first step up the stairs and turned back, a little more on a level with him that way. “I’m sorry. I was – well, I was stupidly upset by something someone said, and I had to leave.” She gave a slight, apologetic shrug and headed on up the stairs.

Edward followed her, catching hold of her arm again on the landing. “Harding,” he said, and he wasn’t angry when he met her gaze, merely concerned. “What did he say to you?”

“Oh, nothing,” said Julia. “Honestly. He didn’t mean anything by it, and I was tired – and, oh, I’m sure I’ve made a silly fuss over nothing.”

He walked into the bedroom after her. “Even so, Julia, you know you could have told me. I would still have brought you home.”

“Yes, I know – as long as the PM didn’t want you,” she said, giving a short smile. “It was – well, you know how it is in a crush like that. I’m sorry.” She knew that was true. Whatever Edward felt about her, he tried to be considerate, and he wouldn’t make her stay in a situation that made her unhappy unless it was unavoidable.

Edward nodded, and then seemed to run out of anything else to say. He turned back to the door.

“Oh, _don’t_ ,” said Julia, gone past the point of pride. “Please don’t leave me, not tonight.”

He halted, turning again to face her, searching her face for some clue as to her motives. 

Julia caught hold of his sleeve, and tried to smile to lighten the moment. Her heartbeat was suddenly loud in her ears as she tried to cover her inadvertent confession of weakness. It shouldn’t matter, but while she wanted to tell him she loved him after all, she didn’t want him to see her loneliness, the way she had only him now and couldn’t bear to lose him, because that wasn’t fair. It wouldn’t be fair to anyone. She shivered again, and said, “I just don’t want to be alone, that’s all.”

Edward nodded a second time, but she caught the momentary look of hurt that darkened in his eyes before he masked it, moving nearer to her. “I’ve no wish to be alone, either,” he said. “Don’t worry.”

“Of course,” said Julia, trying to hide behind a half-hearted joke that wasn’t worth the effort, “it’s only because I could use your help getting out of this dress.”

Edward smiled again. “Naturally.”

“And,” Julia said, putting her hand to his arm, “by the way, _that_ was me play-acting – being polite and charming to everyone as hard as I could. This isn’t, you know.”

He gave her a puzzled, blank look for a minute before he understood. “I’m sorry. Julia, I _do_ know – I was only – Oh, Lord, I don’t even know what I was thinking. I should never have said it. I hoped you’d forgotten it by now.”

“I might, if you make it up to me,” she said, and stretched up to kiss him, putting her arms around his neck, as if by holding onto him she could explain that she hadn’t meant it to sound as if anyone would have done; it was only that she had reached a point where the opposite was so painfully true, she couldn’t afford to let him know.

Edward kissed her lightly in return and then drew back, as if to say something, but instead moved forward again, putting his hands to her face, then to her waist as he kissed her again, more deeply, and she could feel the relief in him, matching hers. It was stupid to say that she’d been missing him so badly when they were still living in the same house, but she had. She hung onto him, not quite steady any more; her relief mingled with fear and desire. When he let go, she sat down on the bed, not even caring now if he could see through her.

“Excuse me,” he said, as if he was still going to go, even after that.

She looked up in alarm. “Edward – Ned – don’t –”

“Julia,” he said, crouching down by the bed and grinning at her. “I’m only going to the bathroom. I’m not – good grief, what do you think I am?”

She felt the heat in her cheeks, putting her hand up, as if to hide it. “Yes, of course,” she murmured. “I’m still all over the place. I’m sorry.”

“No need to be,” said Edward, putting his hand to her face and kissing her again before straightening up.

Julia watched him to the door and then got up, unfastening her hair as she moved across to the dressing table to wipe away her make-up. She’d just finished when Edward put a hand to her shoulder, causing her to turn.

“Didn’t you say that can be tricky?” he said, touching her necklace lightly, and she looked up at him, with a sudden, grateful smile. She recognised the reference he was making to their wedding night, and her heart lightened immediately. Tonight really _was_ going to be the night when everything came right, she thought. It wasn’t only a comforting lie she told herself.

Edward unfastened the clasp of the necklace and dropped it down on the dressing table, as she rose, putting her hands to the edges of his shirt as it hung open and kissed him again before turning round so that he could undo her dress.

“I almost forgot,” she said as he unhooked her. “What did the Prime Minister want?” She felt him let go as he finished, and he didn’t answer. Julia turned around to face him, and understood her mistake. She shook her head hastily, catching hold of his arms. “Oh, no, no, Edward! I didn’t mean like that. You know I wouldn’t. I only meant, was it good or bad? I didn’t want to be standing here complaining about my imaginary problems if you’d been having a telling off from the PM.” 

He laughed, but she could feel that the tension hadn’t entirely gone out of him. “No,” he said. “And neither, really. Probably good in being brought to his notice, but otherwise entirely neutral. There’s a government report –” He stopped, looking down at her, and laughed. “Never mind.”

Julia kept forgetting she was technically a spy. Edward, she thought ruefully, never did. She leant her head against him briefly.

“What about you?” he asked, as she drew back fractionally and he put his hand to her face, stroking her cheek with his thumb. “What was it that Harding said to you?”

Julia smiled slightly and let him help her step out of her long blue evening dress, before sitting heavily on the bed in her best underthings and stockings and looking up at him. “Edward,” she said, “hand on my heart, he meant well – and the thing that upset me – well, I’m almost as sure as I can be it’s not true.”

 

She woke briefly in the night, wondering for a moment why she felt so much happier than usual, and then registered his presence beside her. She shuffled a little nearer and closed her eyes once more. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she tried to scold herself for being so ridiculous, but it didn’t stop her feeling as if she could at last breathe properly again. 

And tomorrow, she thought drowsily, she could explain her feelings. It would be all so much easier in a more intimate place and time than trying to corner him in the study or broaching the subject at mealtimes.

She fell asleep still planning out her words for the morning.

 

When she next woke, it was light and Edward had gone. Julia sat up and put a hand to her face before turning to look at the clock on the bedside table. It was twenty past nine already, so she stifled her instinctive and foolish panic and pulled herself up, reaching for her dressing gown.

Downstairs, she stopped by the sideboard in the hall and her heart sank to see another note there. She picked it up and unfolded it.

 _Dear Julia_ , it read, _in case you might have forgotten, I have to go to Donningford with Mr Morley for a couple of days. Apologies for not saying goodbye, but I thought it kinder not to wake you. Edward_

She scrunched the paper up in her hands and bit back angry tears that momentarily choked her. _Oh, he_ would, she thought, throwing the paper down beside the silent telephone.

“Julia,” Edward said from behind her, suddenly, causing her to jump.

She swung round. “Edward!”

“You’re awake after all,” he said, with a wry quirk of his mouth. “I’m sorry. I have to leave – I mustn’t miss the train.”

Julia took hold of herself, and nodded. “Yes, of course. I do remember now, but I was too focused on the reception, I suppose, and I forgot.” She took a breath. “One thing, though. If you’re going away like that, I would always, _always_ , prefer to be woken. I don’t care even if it’s some unearthly hour of the morning, or whenever it is. I don’t like people disappearing.”

“Yes, sorry,” he said, but he shifted away from her evasively. “It seemed unfair.”

She gave a bright smile. “Your train,” she reminded him. “And it doesn’t matter. We can have a proper talk when you come back.”

“Of course,” he said, leaning forward and kissing her cheek almost gingerly, which was ridiculous after yesterday. He hesitated and then added, “Thank you for last night.”

Julia caught her breath in her throat, trying not to be angry again. “Don’t you dare,” she said, keeping hold of him by his jacket. “I didn’t – it wasn’t – whatever do you think _I_ am?”

“Julia,” said Edward, pulling away, “I’m sorry, but I _must_ go.” He reached for his hat, coat, and scarf.

She nodded. “Still, that’s what I meant about when you get back. It’s silly you being in the spare room – there’s no need. Besides, what if we have guests?”

“I don’t think,” began Edward carefully, and then halted, abandoning whatever it was he had intended to say. He pulled on his coat and backed towards the door. “Well, as you say, we’ll discuss everything when I return. We, ah, don’t want to rush matters, do we?”

Julia stared after the closed door, once he had gone. She sat down on the stairs, still with a frown on her face. “Well, that was odd,” she said to the empty house and then leaned in sideways against the wall. She didn’t think that even if Edward no longer cared for her, he would be in such an obvious hurry to leave her. It occurred to her at almost the same moment, what the explanation might be. It was quite simple: he didn’t trust her, and now he was the one running away in panic. It would be laughable if it wasn’t so likely to come between them. She felt cold again. 

Well, she thought, someone would have to do something about it, and clearly, it must be her. This trip away had been very inconveniently timed. She felt sure she’d have won if he’d only stayed in the house a little longer. She picked herself up and went into the kitchen to find some breakfast, feeling aggrieved.

 

She had barely finished eating her porridge when the telephone rang. She hurried over to pick the receiver up. “Hello, Primrose H–”

“Julia,” said Edward on the other end, just audible despite the noise on the line and in the background.

“Oh, dear, you haven’t missed your train, have you?” she said.

“No, but it’s late. Look, I’m sorry, I can’t stop – there’s a queue here – but I wasn’t being fair. I’m sorry. We’ll talk when we I get back, like you said. You’ll be all right, won’t you?”

Julia smiled, unseen, into the receiver. “Oh, yes, don’t worry, darling. I’ll be all right. You go and don’t miss that train or very important Cabinet ministers will be cross with you.” She heard the click as he replaced the receiver on his end, and her smile faded as she put down the phone. “I love you,” she said aloud, now that there was no danger of him hearing her. Goodness only knew why, of course, but she did.


	33. Smoke Gets in Your Eyes (G, 1949: Edward Iveson/Julia Graves, Diana Foyle)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward thinks his private life should be private. Everyone else seems to disagree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nov 1949; Edward Iveson, Diana Foyle, Julia Graves. Follows on closely from _Hit or Miss_ and leads directly into _Sent to Coventry_.
> 
> Prompts: Prune #27 (a little bird told me), Cookies ‘n’ Cream #5 (catch)

“But I _didn’t_ telephone you,” said Julia on the other end of the line. “And of course I’m perfectly well, although it is kind of you to ask. In fact it’s nice to speak to you – I don’t think I have since yesterday.”

“Julia –”

“While you’re here, what time will you be home? I like to prepare myself for being ignored, you know.”

Edward stifled irritation and guilt. “Yes, thank you, Julia. I’m not ignoring you – it’s just this report. I told you. And I’m sorry, but I was told you’d left a message for me, but it seems it was a mistake.”

“Oh,” said Julia, “I see – it must have been your other woman.”

Edward gave the opposite wall of the office a glare. “Honestly, Julia. And I’m sorry – I don’t know what time I’ll finish here. We’re still working on the report and the deadline is Wednesday.”

“Oh, well,” Julia said, “I’ll look forward to catching you for five minutes on the weekend – or perhaps we can have another telephone conversation sometime?”

“Julia,” he said again in annoyance, but she had already hung up on him. He replaced the receiver on its cradle, and closed his eyes. Why had Diana told him, in the middle of a talk with Amyas Harding, that Julia had called and was in some trouble? He thought back to the moment and wondered if there hadn’t been some look between the two – but no, he thought. What would be the point? Had one of his relatives called and Diana had leapt to conclusions? He eyed the telephone warily, not feeling willing to have another such awkward and wasted telephone call with either of his aunts or his cousins to find out.

There was a tap at the half-open door and he glanced up again to see Diana slip in, pushing the door shut behind her. She gave him a wry, apologetic smile and then sat down in the nearest chair.

Edward got to his feet, and watched her. “Well?”

She took a moment to reply, delving in her bag for a box of cigarettes. “Yes, I know. It was an unconscionable thing to do, but my motives were pure, I promise.”

“I don’t understand,” said Edward, moving round his desk. “What was the point? If you’d wanted me out of the room, you only had to ask.”

Diana paused again, this time to light her cigarette, before removing it and exhaling the smoke. “Well, yes, and so I would have done if that was what I was after. It seemed the best way I could think of to make my point to Amyas before he did any more meddling.”

“Now I’m afraid you’ve lost me,” Edward said. 

Diana leant forward. “He seems to have got it into his head that you don’t care very much for Julia and, from what I can gather, he apparently told her so the other week.”

“Oh,” said Edward, leaning back against his desk as he tried to take that in. Harding had caught Julia alone at a reception a while ago and said something that had upset her, though she had refused to tell him what it was. Was that really what it had been? It seemed impossible. Edward found it inconceivable that someone could look at them together and imagine that he didn’t love Julia instead of the other way around. 

He glanced away from Diana, thinking over that night again, and what had followed Harding’s words. Oh God, he thought, was it really that simple – that she now cared for him in return and had been hurt by the idea? Or was she merely afraid of losing her influence over him and potentially her usefulness to the United Europe organisation? He knew the latter suspicion was very likely unfair, but it was a possibility he had to keep in mind.

“Yes,” said Diana. “So I thought one small lie to demonstrate his mistake would be better than risking him meddling any further. I mean, God knows, nobody should try and interfere in a marriage, but that wouldn’t necessarily stop Amyas.”

“You should have told me,” Edward said, not much placated. “I could have enlightened him, without you playing games as well. It’s none of your business – either of you!”

“You’d have gone in there, all stiff and proper, no doubt, and he probably still wouldn’t have believed you.”

Edward knew what she meant, but it didn’t make him any less angry about it. “I don’t care what he believes! It isn’t anybody’s affair but ours!”

“Well, quite,” said Diana, looking up at him. “But don’t be naïve, Edward. You’re a public figure, even if only a minor one. People will take an interest if they scent anything in the least bit irregular. That’s the crux of it. Amyas doesn’t care about your marriage, but he doesn’t want to have uttered your name in high places and then have your private life explode into scandal. Mr Morley wouldn’t care so much – he’s got where he’s going and he’s not such a devious soul, but Amyas has got his eye on the top and doesn’t want even the slightest obstacle left if he can help it.”

Edward rubbed his forehead. “He and Mr Morley were the ones who kept hinting that it would look better if I married, and now I have, Harding has to interfere.”

“It’s ironic when one knows you,” said Diana, “but your personal life already doesn’t bear close scrutiny, does it? Not that that’s much of an excuse for him, but there it is.”

Edward shrugged, some of the anger beginning to give way to bafflement. “But why this? Why would he even think that? And if he does, why the hell talk to Julia and not me?”

“He said something about you being very elusive of late,” said Diana.

Edward put his hand to his mouth, biting back a slight, embarrassed smile. There had been an incident a month or so ago, following an evening with Harding – one which both Harding and Julia had been amused over, and Edward had _not_. He’d been determined not to repeat his foolishness and avoided more informal occasions with Harding as much as he could since. And, he thought, with sudden dismay, maybe it was at least in part that kind of thing that had misled Harding. If he’d suddenly stopped being as careful about letting Harding get him drunk; if he’d seemed keen to avoid thinking about his personal affairs or going home to Julia, Harding’s conclusions became a little more understandable.

“It’s not my business, either,” said Diana, “and I won’t meddle, but there is something, isn’t there?”

Edward looked at her, but couldn’t think what to say.

“That’s not really a question,” she said, putting up a hand before he could try to reply. “I don’t want to know. I just wanted to say that it _does_ matter what people say, and even if you avoid the gossips as much as possible, you must have heard people talking about your marriage – about Julia’s motives. It’s no good pretending one is above that sort of thing – it’s never true. It will colour the way you think, if you’re not careful, just the same as whatever Amyas might have said. And I won’t pretend to know what goes on in Julia’s head, but I’d be willing to bet a lot of money all those people are wrong.”

He turned away, tempted for one minute to ask her what she thought Julia’s feelings were but it would betray too plainly the state of their marriage, and he couldn’t be disloyal enough to discuss this situation with anyone but Julia. He just needed to stop being such a damned coward and work up the nerve to have that conversation. It was just so hard to know what to say, and the longer it went on, the less certain he was that he knew the first thing about Julia’s feelings. She wasn’t happy, he knew that. Perhaps she did care for him, perhaps she had been upset by Harding, perhaps she wanted him not to be so careful about keeping his distance, but he couldn’t be sure. At the end of the summer, they’d seemed to be getting on so well, that he’d forgotten himself – teasing her, dancing with her in the living room – and she’d all but turned white and ran away from him. He’d known what he was getting into when he made this marriage and it wasn’t fair to ask her for more. She hadn’t agreed to that.

He kept thinking too about her other supposed reason for accepting him – to work as an agent for United Europe, the pressure group her brother had belonged to. It had been part of his proposal, but it shouldn’t have been, and he had this growing fear that if he had this conversation with Julia, she would lie and tell him that she loved him – tell him everything he most wanted to hear, and he’d fall into a trap of his own making, one from which he’d never get out again. In Paris, when he hardly knew her, he’d been so sure of her – of her fundamental honesty and generosity of character at least – but now he was lost.

“Of course they’re wrong,” he said eventually. “I know that, don’t worry.”

Diana removed her cigarette and looked about in vain for the ashtray. “So, good luck – oh, damn you, Edward, where have you hidden the thing this time?”

“Thanks,” said Edward, pulling the ashtray out from under a pile of papers and pushing it towards her. “Although I’d appreciate it if you didn’t try any more tricks like that, thank you.”

“I promise. And, by the way, I’m telling you this without any agenda,” said Diana. “I don’t give a damn about your career, trust me. I simply happen to like Julia – and you, too, most of the time.”

Edward watched her go, and glanced back at the telephone, half wishing he could phone Julia again, but it would hardly be private enough to tell her what he needed to say. And, he thought, checking his watch with a sigh, he had to meet Mr Brownlow, one of the Foreign Office’s many under secretaries in less than five minutes and see about that report. He and Julia would have to wait.


	34. Sent to Coventry (PG, 1949: Edward Iveson/Julia Graves, Amyas Harding)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How not to pull off a marriage of convenience.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> late 1949. Edward Iveson/Julia Graves, finally having the conversation.
> 
> Prompts: Chocolate #23 ((in)security), Passionfruit #20 (Scratch a lover, and find a foe) + Malt – Relationship Challenge Prompts #3 & #4 (first fight, first make-up).

Julia sat down at the dining table with the intention of planning a dinner and writing out some of the invitations, but she got nowhere, her thoughts straying every time she tried. Chiefly, it had to be said, they were straying to Edward, who was working from his study this morning, but who had barely spoken to her since last night.

“This can’t go on,” she announced to the empty room, but then she only sighed. She couldn’t storm into the study, because he might be doing something important, and it could wait a little while longer. Besides, she had to admit to herself, she was scared that she might cause them to lose even what they had if she wasn’t careful. Everything was so terribly awkward.

She glanced down at the magazine she’d brought in with her to prevent any chance of damaging the polished table, and flicked through it. It must have a problem page. Perhaps, she thought in rueful amusement, somebody else was also having the same difficulty: what to do when you marry a stranger who turns out to be (probably) in love with you, and then you find yourself also falling in love with him. Especially when Party A is either regretting the whole thing or politely trying not to trouble Party B too much, while Party B is trying to find a way to explain her feelings that he’ll believe because, oh, yes, Party B is also technically a spy, so Party A knows she’d have reason to lie.

Funnily enough, the problem page didn’t have anything like that. In fact, most of them seemed to be having more trouble getting stains out of the tablecloth and keeping up with the latest hairstyles.

Julia heaved another sigh and rested her chin on her fist, propped up on the table, as she frowned over it. Of course, she thought, Party B – being her – should get on and tell Party A – being Edward – how she felt, but the thing was, she wasn’t doing that until she knew for certain that, having achieved marrying in haste, he wasn’t now repenting at leisure. And to do that, they needed to have a proper conversation, and that brought everything back to the root problem again.

“Julia,” said Edward suddenly, opening the door behind her, and causing her to start violently. “Do you know when lunch might be? I will have to leave quite soon and –”

“Oh!” she said, turning abruptly in the chair, and leaning against the back. “And is that all you have to say for yourself?”

Edward halted and looked faintly alarmed. “Have I forgotten something?”

“Good morning, Julia,” she said pointedly. “And how are you? Well, I trust, since I’ve hardly spoken three words together to you since last week!”

“I merely asked a question.”

She sighed. “Yes. You did, didn’t you? You know, even when I was at school, at least they bothered to tell you _why_ you were being sent to Coventry. You didn’t just find yourself there one morning with no way of escape.”

“Julia, I have spoken to you today,” he said. Then he put a hand to his head. “I’m sure I must have done.”

She pulled herself up from the chair. “Yes,” she said, with mock sympathy, “and it was exactly that memorable, wasn’t it?”

“Well, anyway, I’m not sending you to Coventry. Don’t be silly. And if you’re busy – what is it, another event? – I’ll ask Mrs Crosbie instead.”

Julia leant against the wall. “Then I don’t know why you didn’t just do that in the first place!”

“I really don’t understand –”

She glared. “Yesterday, you _did_ say good morning, but then you were out somewhere all day. At dinner, I believe you may have commented on a news article – or perhaps that was the day before? Perhaps yesterday was the time you merely asked for the salt? And then you were back in your study all evening.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, sounding stiff, which presumably meant he was angry, because when he was he tended only to get more distant and polite, which was extremely frustrating to a person trying to have a decent argument. “Things have been very busy.”

Julia moved forward. “Well, then, tell me that. Don’t just disappear.”

“I can’t give you details,” he said. “You know that.”

She closed her eyes. “I didn’t mean state secrets, Edward. I know what we agreed as well as you. I meant, you can at least tell me that’s all it is and not –” She cut herself short and threw up her arms. “Oh, go away! Go and ask Mrs Crosbie about lunch. You don’t trust me. Of course. Why would you?”

“I didn’t say –”

Julia stormed out past him, and then swung back round. “You didn’t have to! And, no, it’s not ‘another event’, it was just supposed to be a dinner, but there probably isn’t much point! I’m sure you’d only manage to ignore me at it.”

“Why should I do that?” said Edward. 

She shrugged. “You did at the reception.”

“I didn’t ignore you, Julia. I said at the time I thought it all went very well.” 

“Oh, yes,” she said. “Yes, you did, but you still left me standing in a corner by myself!”

Edward took a sideways step away from her. “You were playing your part as hostess rather admirably. You were not standing in a corner!”

“Maybe you didn’t notice, but that Colonel did. He talked to me for nearly an hour, all because he felt sorry for me!”

Edward backed further away, and ducked the issue. “Whatever it is, I don’t have time to discuss it now, but this evening I promise – well, as long as you’re a little more reasonable!”

“I’m not unreasonable!” said Julia and stamped back into the dining room, slamming the door behind her, and leaning against it. “I have reasons,” she told her invisible audience, and then turned and put her face to the door, furious more with herself than with him. “Damn,” she said, muffled into the wood panels. “Oh, bother and damnation.”

She’d thought at the start that it should be easier this way. They both knew what the arrangement was, and there didn’t have to be any of that ridiculous rollercoaster of emotions one got in the course of a stupid infatuation. Here they were, already married, before she finally decided that she must be in love with him, and she even already knew what his feelings were, but it turned out that the ups and downs weren’t optional. 

Now she worried that he’d changed his mind, or that he might not believe her. And whatever the case, the idea of a marriage where they both were in love with the other but maintained the illusion that it was a marriage of convenience as hard as they could, scared her. That way surely lay a kind of madness. It was bad enough now – there were times lately when she’d almost said it without thinking – I love you – and stopped herself, because she didn’t know how he would respond. To go on silencing yourself like that – where did it lead?

It was all very well when he was around and he was talking to her; most of the time they enjoyed each other’s company, but that was no good when, every so often as if afraid of pushing his luck too far, he retreated into some place she couldn’t follow.

And, she thought, when he finally came to ask her a question, and she could have raised the issue, she just lost her temper and shouted. She drew in her breath, deciding it was no good hanging onto a door for comfort, when someone pushed it open from the other side, catching her off-balance.

“Julia,” said Edward, sounding even more puzzled and no less wary. “What on earth are you doing?”

She raised her head, instantly annoyed again, because obviously it was completely unreasonable of him to try and use the door in a regular manner when she was busy venting her feelings at it. “I was going to leave,” she said, folding her arms. “What did you want this time?”

“I was only going to say that lunch will –” said Edward, and let his voice trail away on seeing her expression. “Yes, well, perhaps it isn’t –”

“Oh!” said Julia, and marched past him down the hallway, turning back at the first step, holding onto the end of the banister. “Lunch! Is that _all_ you ever talk about?”

Edward edged back into the dining room, evidently giving up on the hope of rational conversation from her.

That enraged her further, because it was his fault in the first place, after all. He was the one who’d asked her to marry him; he was the one who’d said she should continue working for the organisation, and he was the one who’d fallen in love with her. She hung onto the banister, and, wanting a reaction out of him, said the worst thing she could think of: “I’m not surprised your first wife ran away!”

The only response she got was the quiet closing of the door.

Julia stayed where she was, torn between running back and apologising, or doing something more drastic. She hesitated, but thought again, not of being sent to Coventry, but that time the Sixth Form _hadn’t_ sent her to Coventry, because Sixth Formers didn’t stoop to such childish measures; they were just terribly, awfully polite to her for well over a week, and it had felt like dying some secret death inside. Julia had a feeling that dinner tonight would be something like that, even if she did apologise. And, as she’d said to herself earlier, they couldn’t go on like this, could they? She set her face, gathered up the remnants of her anger, and ran up the stairs, away from him.

 

Iveson returned to his study to try and finish some notes before his meeting with Mr Morley and Mr Harding, but he failed to get anything useful done in the time. He wrote one or two lines, but had to cross them out again. The movement wasn’t really enough to vent his feelings, so he screwed up the paper and threw it in the bin.

He wanted to go and find Julia, worried about what was wrong, but he decided it was probably best not to until she’d calmed down. What had got into her this morning? It really wasn’t like her. Perhaps she was feeling unwell?

He put down his pen, pushed aside his plate with the half-eaten sandwich that Mrs Crosbie had found for him, and went in search of her. He stepped out into the hallway, and crossed to the dining room to peer in, but she wasn’t there, though her notepaper and invitations were still lying on the table where she’d left them earlier.

“Julia?” he called up the stairs. “Julia!”

Mrs Crosbie came out of the kitchen with her coat on – she only came in three mornings, and she was about to head home as usual. “Mrs Iveson’s gone out,” she told him.

“Oh,” said Iveson, and tried to stifle irrational panic. Of course Julia could go out; it would be silly to be alarmed about it. No doubt she needed something down at the shops, or had wanted to walk off her temper. “Did she say where?” he asked.

Mrs Crosbie headed to the door, having other places to be herself. “She said you knew, Mr Iveson. I thought she was going to stay with that cousin of yours – she had a small case with her.”

“Yes,” he said, managing not to give away the stab of fear he felt on hearing that. “Yes, of course. Thank you, Mrs Crosbie.”

Iveson shut the door behind Mrs Crosbie, and then turned back, having to check before he could believe it. Julia’s coat was gone, and when he looked in the closet, he thought there was an overnight case missing.

His next reaction was to hurry to the phone, to call Amy, but he stopped himself on the point of calling the operator. Julia hadn’t said anything to him about going down there. The last thing he wanted was to ring up Amy and tell her he didn’t know where Julia was. He hung onto the receiver, though, and then asked to be put through to Crispin Morley, the Foreign Secretary.

“Sir,” he said. “About this afternoon. You see, something’s come up and I was wondering –”

Crispin sounded puzzled. “Iveson? You know it’s important. Could be useful for you, too. Surely whatever it is can’t be that urgent?”

“No,” agreed Edward, regretfully. “Of course not. Sorry. I shall be there as soon as I can, sir.” He put the receiver down and looked at the wall. He supposed he should have been able to invent an excuse; anything other than telling Mr Morley he seemed to have misplaced his wife – again.

What was more, he thought, taking his coat down off its peg and shrugging it on, he shouldn’t jump to conclusions. Julia had once said to him that she promised not to run away, and he should show a little faith in her. If she’d walked out in anger, then most likely as soon as her temper passed, she would turn around and come back again. He knew by now that her anger didn’t last; she was the sort who flared up quickly, but then it was over and done with.

He hurried out of the house, catching a cab into Westminster, but he didn’t look at his notes, still too busy trying to work out exactly what he had done to provoke such a reaction. Julia had said he’d been ignoring her, but that wasn’t true. He tried to keep his distance sometimes, not to expect too much, because he knew her feelings weren’t engaged in the same way, and he’d known that would be part of the bargain. He’d somehow gone too far with that, perhaps? Or was it all about more practical matters? Maybe, despite what they’d said at the start, she’d expected useful information from him already, and he had failed to oblige.

Once he arrived at Mr Morley’s office, it was easier to put it all out of his head as they worked through the details of the inquiry, but once they finished, he immediately started worrying again about where Julia was, if she had come home by then, or not, and what he would do if she hadn’t. When Mr Harding suggested that they could tie up some of the loose ends over dinner, he couldn’t help letting his reluctance show, though he wasn’t in a position to argue with the two senior ministers.

“Iveson would rather not,” said Crispin Morley, observing his reaction in amusement. “Ah, well, that’s the trouble with letting people get married – it’ll wear off soon enough, Iveson.”

Iveson merely said, “Sir,” because he never understood why people thought it was so amusing to make that kind of comment, and he found it even more uncomfortable than usual today.

“Oh, perfectly understandable,” Amyas Harding said with a smile, as he gathered up his files. “I had the pleasure of meeting Mrs Iveson a few times myself. I’m sure I’d feel the same. You go on, Iveson. There’s nothing here we need you for, not now.”

Iveson didn’t argue. He thanked Harding and left as soon as he could, having first to return the papers to his office. That done, he hurried out to hail a cab, although his relief at finally getting out of the building was rapidly unseated by anxiety at wondering what he might find – or not find – when he got home. 

In the end, he stopped the taxi a couple of streets short of the house, and walked the rest of the way, mostly to delay the moment of truth, although it was as well, anyway, after hours in spent in smoky rooms, not to mention Harding’s habit of finishing up the proceedings with scotch or brandy.

It was dark already, being November, and a traditionally foggy London night. The clammy fingers of mist curled around him, chilling him, and blurring the orange lamplight. When he reached the house, he stopped outside, holding onto the railings as he looked upwards, trying to see if there was a light on inside. It took him a moment to accept it even after he realised there was, and he breathed out in relief: she had come back.

 

Julia had been waiting inside, on the sofa, only she must have dozed off, listening for a car stopping outside, because suddenly Edward was there, right beside her. She sat up, giving a small start.

“Julia,” he said, kneeling by the sofa. “Thank God. I thought you’d gone.”

She couldn’t look at him yet, not proud that she’d resorted to scaring him like that.

“Where did you go?” he asked. “And why, Julia? Surely not because of this morning?”

Julia shook away her sleepiness, and sat up properly, looking at him now, holding up a hand to stop his questions. “I wasn’t leaving,” she said. “I promise. In fact I – well, I went to the bus stop, and I did think of going to see Aunt Daisy, but I wasn’t sure how I would explain, and then I realised I didn’t even have the fare on me. So I went down to the shops and back.”

“With a suitcase?”

She had to smile. “Only a small one. I don’t think anyone even noticed.”

Edward pulled himself up to sit on the other end of the sofa. “Yes, but why?” he said. “Am I really so impossible to talk to?”

“Oh, no,” she said. “No, it’s fine when you’re here, but when you’re not –” She waved a hand, not wanting to restart the argument. “None of that is really very important. It’s just that you don’t trust me, Edward. And I wonder if you ever will, and that scares me.”

He leant forward. “But I do –”

“Oh, in some ways,” she said, and coloured. “I didn’t mean it to sound quite like that. But it is true. You’re not sure of me – what I want, why I’m here. Are you?”

It was Edward’s turn to look away.

“I understand,” she said, though she had to swallow back hurt that he hadn’t denied it. She knew it must be true, but she wished it wasn’t. She did understand, though. She wondered about him sometimes, why he had asked, what he wanted, if she’d misread everything, and it was especially easy to do so when he was avoiding her. 

And, Julia thought, it wasn’t even just about trusting each other. For her at least, it was also about mistrusting happiness. Of course, what had happened to her had been nothing to what had happened to many people during the war, but it still made her wary of having something else to lose. Edward hadn’t suffered the same thing, but he’d effectively lost both parents as a child, and his first marriage had abruptly turned into a disaster. He might well feel the same way, and it didn’t help.

She had to finish this, though, and see what ground she could gain. “I wasn’t trying to quarrel again. Of course, you could just be regretting marrying me in the first place –”

“Julia!” he said, and sounded genuinely shocked. “You know what my feelings are. You didn’t even need me to tell you.”

She leant her head against the side of the sofa. “Well, it could have been that,” she said. “It’s very lonely, being in Coventry. It makes it hard to tell.” 

“Don’t be silly,” said Edward. “Honestly, Julia. I’ve only been – well, I have been busy these last few days – but I was only trying not to forget that you don’t necessarily feel the same. If you think that comes easily –”

Julia turned her head back towards him, and then gave a slight, sideways smile. “I think you can rely on me to tell you if you’re being a nuisance, Edward, don’t you?”

“After this morning, I feel certain of it,” he said in mock-solemn humour.

She knew she had to go on. “Well, the thing is, I _do_ feel the same. To go on pretending otherwise while we both tried to hide our feelings – what would that make of us, in the end, do you think?”

“Julia –”

“Apart from it also being entirely ridiculous,” said Julia. “I think as marriages of convenience go, ours is hopelessly inconvenient, don’t you?”

Edward looked back at her, and failed to say anything.

“And, you see,” she said, forcing a smile. “There we are. You can’t quite trust me because, if I was any use at this spy game, that’s what I would say. But I never did before and, despite everything, I’m not awfully good at lying. Not like that, not between us, always.”

Edward was still watching her, the worried crease back in the middle of his forehead. “But when did you –?”

“I couldn’t say,” Julia told him. “Somewhere between four days and four months – longer than it takes _some_ people, apparently.”

He only looked at her, still wearing that anxious frown, and Julia had to bite her lip, wondering why, when he looked back at those four months or so, the truth of her statement wasn’t the most obvious thing in the world to him.

“I’m sorry,” he said, eventually. “I don’t mean to be so –” He failed to find an adequate word and gave a disconsolate shrug. “I want to believe you, of course. Too much, you see.” He moved nearer to her, leaning forward in his earnestness, though when he spoke he looked down, as if talking more to himself than to her. “What sort of trap would I have made for myself?”

Julia pressed her hands into fists, staying where she was. She couldn’t give him further reason to doubt her when he thought back over this conversation at any point. “If you can’t believe me, if you can’t at least pretend to believe me, then at some point I will have to leave. I can’t live like that.” Then she gave way to frustration. “It was _your_ idea, not mine! Imagining some complicated double bluff all sounds rather self-important, if you ask me!”

“So it does,” he agreed, looking amused again. “Sorry.”

Julia closed her eyes. “Well, then,” she said, and closed her eyes, as she screwed up her face, waiting for a proper answer out of him. “ _Edward_.”

To her surprise, he only laughed, and she opened her eyes again, as he took her hand. “You looked as if you were waiting for the roof to fall in on you,” he told her by way of explanation.

Julia gave an uncertain smile. “Well, I _am_ ,” she said. “I don’t seem to be the sort of person who can manage a marriage of convenience, after all.”

Edward laughed again, and gave her a quizzical look. “You’re saying you’d fall in love with anyone you happened to marry?”

“No,” said Julia, and then thought about it. “Well, let’s say that I don’t think I would under any circumstances marry someone I didn’t at least think I could fall in love with.” And she rather thought now, that she couldn’t have married anyone else at all, but her feelings were busily engaged these days and her conclusions were unreliable. Love worked backwards as well as forwards, and coloured everything in retrospect. “If you look at it that way, is it easier to believe?”

He tightened his grip on her hand, and pulled her in nearer. “Oh, God, I’m sorry, Julia. I’m being insufferable, aren’t I?”

Julia would have agreed with him, but he didn’t give her chance, kissing her, and she returned the favour, holding onto him tightly. She could smell the smoke on his jacket, and feel the rough thickness of the material under her fingers as she dug them in, not wanting to let go. 

“Julia,” he said, after a while, and she drew back to see the amusement lighting his face. “Julia, there is one thing.”

“What?” she asked, wary of an inevitable oncoming joke.

“Well, I can’t help being curious – just what dreadful things did you get up to at school to get sent to Coventry?”

Julia moved closer against him. “Nothing!” she said. “It was all a terrible miscarriage of justice, and I nearly broke my heart over it.”

“Poor Julia,” he said, sounding amused again. “A little melodramatic, though, don’t you think?”

She shook her head, concentrating on removing his tie. “The occasion called for it,” she said, and then glanced up with a smile. “And what I’ve been trying to say is that you are entirely unreasonable, thoroughly impossible, and I’m afraid I seem to be quite horribly in love with you, though I can’t imagine why.”


	35. Everything But Words (PG, 1949: Edward Iveson/Julia Graves, Amyas Harding, Nancy Long, Isobel Andrews)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything has changed between Edward and Julia – but the rest of the world mustn’t know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nov 1949; Edward Iveson/Julia Graves. Follows on from _Sent to Coventry_ (in which Edward and Julia finally confess their feelings for each other).
> 
> Prompts: Cookies & Cream 3 (spin) + Gummy Bunnies (also for genprompt_bingo square “revelations and concealments.”)

“We’ve got to behave normally,” Edward had said it to Julia before he left that morning. She had already pointed the fact out to him last night. Since they’d been pretending to the world that their marriage of convenience was a love match, now that it had turned out it never truly was a marriage of convenience, they couldn’t suddenly give the game away with unexpected, belated shows of affection. It was perfectly simple. In theory.

In practice, however, Edward had only just arrived at Whitehall when he reached for the telephone, searching for an excuse to call Julia. He’d say he would certainly be home early that evening. He wanted to hear her voice, to know that he hadn’t been having some wild dream last night; that it wasn’t a trick after all. 

He’d got through before he realised that there was really no excuse, and he found himself rather lamely telling Julia that he had arrived safely in Whitehall, when Amyas Harding strolled past.

“I haven’t forgotten I promised to be home early,” he said into the telephone.

Julia sounded amused on the other end of the line: “Yes, so you said when you left, which wasn’t all _that_ long ago, darling.”

“No, well –” Edward couldn’t think of anything he could say with Harding and a secretary at his elbow. “I’ll, er, I’ll see you then.”

Harding shook his head at him. “Iveson, the meeting awaits us. If you can spare us the time, that is – unlike yesterday. Not that I blame you, but it has been six months. Can’t let her tie you to her apron strings, you know.”

 

Edward escaped later into his office at Westminster and signed some letters, a task which needed little of his attention. Perhaps that had been a bad idea: the meeting had at least had the virtue of forcing him to sober up and take part in the usual discussions; now he was free to marvel at Julia’s confession of love again. And the relief of it, when he’d thought last night that she had left him – it _was_ a kind of intoxication, and he must be more careful. 

He remembered last night, smiling to himself, before he recalled how she’d still been trying to assure him she was telling him the truth, sitting on the bed, trying to convince him yet again, when she shouldn’t have had to do it in the first place, and the writhing sense of shame he’d felt within. He’d pulled back from her, wanting to find a way to apologise.

“You _don’t_ trust me,” she’d said, letting her hand fall back to her side. “How can you not see that I mean it?”

He’d shaken his head. He did believe her now, but she should never have had to work so hard to convince him. It wasn’t fair, what he had done to them, with his idiotic proposal. It should have ended in disaster, and it was only thanks to Julia that it hadn’t, and that was nothing to be proud of. 

“No, no,” he said, gripping her hands. “I know. I’m sorry, Julia.” He’d shaken his head a second time, unable to express his conflicting emotions, kissing her instead, refusing to let her needlessly protest her sincerity any more. He knew it was true; somewhere he’d known it for some time. But he was the same coward he’d been when he’d made this arrangement and he hadn’t dared to believe it. He’d hurt her with his hesitancy and doubt; he’d hurt them both, and nearly driven her away.

She shouldn’t love him, he thought. But since she did, all he could do was try and make it up to her. With that, he shook himself, returning to the here and now, sitting at his desk, and realised that he’d finished up by signing the blotting paper in his abstraction. 

 

He arrived home at last, only for Julia to open the door for him even as he went to unlock it, leaving him momentarily off-balance.

“Edward,” she said, and hugged him. She didn’t give him a chance to speak, kissing him and then putting a hand to his mouth with a small shake of her head, leading him into the study.

He watched her in bemusement. “Julia –?”

“Ssh, _ssh_!” she said with a jerk of her head towards the door, ajar into the hallway. She kept her own voice low. “Mrs Crosbie’s still here.”

Edward fought laughter. “Well, she does know I live here, darling.”

“Yes, but that’s not the point –” Julia raised a finger to her lips again and then dashed out into the hallway, pulling the door not-quite-closed behind her. 

Edward could hear the conversation that ensued: Julia asking Mrs Crosbie if she’d finished, and Mrs Crosbie contemplating cleaning the spare room – giving it a proper go-over.

“Oh, not today,” said Julia. “Next week. It’s Friday, and Mr Iveson will be home any minute I shouldn’t wonder – you take yourself off and have a lovely weekend!”

Eventually, once Mrs Crosbie had gone, Edward dared to emerge into the hallway again, carrying the coat and scarf he’d removed while in hiding. “What on earth’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” said Julia, taking his coat and hanging it up, before putting her arms around him again. “But I’ve been waiting for you to come home again ever since you left and I really don’t think I could have been normal in front of Mrs Crosbie.”

He laughed. “I don’t suppose Mrs Crosbie would bat an eyelid, darling, although I am flattered –”

“I can’t have her knowing,” Julia said, pulling back, her gaze darkening. “Edward, _not_ Mrs Crosbie, and not any of your family. They can’t ever know. I don’t suppose she would make anything of us being foolish – but I couldn’t bear it if she did.”

He stroked her hair, not much interested in Mrs Crosbie. “No, no. Of course, we will have to try and be careful, but it’s only today – one odd day.”

“What do you think she’d think if she knew?” said Julia. “Or Aunt Daisy, or Nancy, or any of them? They’d hate me.”

Edward closed his eyes. Yet another consequence of his folly – their folly, perhaps it was true to say that, but it was still his damned suggestion. “Not now they know you. They couldn’t.”

“If I knew that someone had married my brother as a matter of convenience – for the money, for my own safety – I’d find it hard to trust her.”

He knew what she meant: what if it were Nancy or Amy who’d made such a match? He’d be suspicious himself; anyone would. “ _Julia_ ,” he said softly, having little else to offer.

“Yes, well, that’s why we must be careful,” she said and pushed him away with a smile. “Go upstairs and get changed – I’ve a few last things to do in the kitchen.”

 

When Edward crossed back from the bathroom to the bedroom, in more casual shirt and trousers, he found her sitting on the bed, unbuttoning her blouse. She beamed up at him.

“I set a trap for you.”

He laughed, screwing up his face, as he sat beside her. “Silly. What do you need with traps? You’ve already got me.”

“One likes to be sure,” said Julia, po-faced but with a definite spark in her eyes as she put her arms around him and Edward thanked God it was the weekend at last.

 

In the morning, Edward slipped out, ostensibly to buy a newspaper, but he had determined to get Julia something to mark what was in some ways, the official beginning of their marriage. It couldn’t be anything that somebody else would notice, but he had an idea or two, and when he came back was able to press a small box into her hands.

“Oh, no!” she said, in genuine dismay. “Oh, Edward. Please don’t.”

He shook his head. “Darling, I got it from a market stall. It’s only something small to mark the occasion. I want to do things properly from now on – take it as my promise that I will.”

“I hate you,” she said, blinking back tears, and he supposed that she meant the opposite. “You’re very unfair sometimes.” 

She opened it up. Inside was a small silver – or presumably, silver-coated – brooch in the shape of a rose.

“Because you told me,” he said. “About the messages in the flowers. And I’m not up on the language of flowers, but I’m fairly sure a rose is for love.”

Julia laughed, and stretched up to kiss him. “Well, I thought that, too, but the florist said it was more complicated. Some of them are almost ominous.”

“Whichever one is the right one, it’s that. Love, I mean,” he said, and then hesitated, second-guessing himself. “Not ominous. Of course, if you don’t like it –”

Julia curled her fingers around it. “Oh, no, no! You don’t get to take my present back – or what you just said.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Do you realise that was the first time you’ve ever actually said you love me?”

“Now you’re being silly. I told you even before we were married – you asked me.”

Julia leant back against the wall. Her mouth curved into a small smile. “Oh, yes, I did. I asked you whether you’d fallen in love with me in Paris or Berlin. And you said that you wouldn’t put it as strongly as that, but it might have been Berlin. And even the other day, it was only things like, ‘well, you already know what my feelings are.’”

“You do.”

“I wasn’t at all sure for a while, up until then,” said Julia. “It doesn’t hurt to say so, at least on occasion.”

“I’m sure I must have done – since Thursday, at least.”

She held his gaze. “Oh, no. I would have remembered, believe me.”

“Then I’m sorry for that, too,” he said, and caught at her hand with a grin. “Obviously, I love you.”

Julia moved nearer in response – and then suddenly turned away, facing the still partially open front door and said, “Oh, hello, Nancy!”

Nancy paused, hand upraised, ready to ring the bell, blinking as Julia pulled the door open. Isabel was close behind her. 

“Nan,” said Edward, trying to hide his dismay. Judging by the way Nancy raised her eyebrow in his direction, it probably hadn’t been all that successful. “What are you doing here? Not that it’s not nice to see you both, of course.”

“Had you forgotten you invited us round for coffee?”

“Oh,” said Julia, joining Edward at the door and taking his arm. “I – er – yes, that is, I think I did! Earlier this week. I don’t think I told you in the end, what with everything else.”

Nancy looked from one to the other. “Is this is a bad time?”

“No,” and “Yes,” Julia and Edward said simultaneously and then looked at each other.

Isobel was trying not to laugh, from her position on the step. “Come on, Nan,” she said, putting her arm through Nancy’s. “Clearly it _is_ a bad time. We’ll go for a walk and I’ll treat you to coffee – and we’ll arrange another time for a social call.”

Edward shut the door behind them and glanced over at Julia.

She was trying not to laugh again. “I’m sure,” she said, “that nobody will notice anything odd at all, darling. But in the meantime, do you think we should lock the door and disconnect the telephone, just in case?”


	36. What Can I Give? (PG, 1949: Edward Iveson/Julia Graves, Diana Foyle)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward takes Julia away for their first Christmas, and it almost goes so well…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Christmas 1949, Edward Iveson/Julia Graves, Diana Foyle.
> 
> Prompts: Chocolate #13 (humility), Papaya #23 (you’ve outdone yourself) + Gummy Bunnies (also for Hurt/Comfort Bingo square “nausea”)
> 
> Notes/Warnings: brief reference to nausea (more metaphorical than literal). Christmas fic.

“And Julia,” announced Diana Foyle to a woman Julia didn’t even know, “is going away for Christmas.”

Julia turned to Diana as soon as the woman had moved on, unsure whether to laugh or be annoyed.

“I thought,” said Diana, mock-innocently, “that it was possible you might forget to mention it.”

Julia gave in and laughed. “I haven’t been that bad, have I?”

“Well, you’ve told me three times, you know. And, really, my memory isn’t that poor.”

Julia glanced at Diana more closely, wondering if she’d been insensitive. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so thoughtless – to ram things down your throat. It’s only that – oh, it’s impossible to explain, but we haven’t been away like that since the wedding.”

“Oh, no need to worry about me, my dear,” said Diana, taking her arm. “I’ve been invited to my brother’s and I’m looking forward to it, I assure you. Besides, I don’t begrudge anyone else their happiness. Although, I have to say it’s just as well you’re not that obvious to everyone else around here. They’d have to stop their gossiping and that would spoil all their fun.”

Julia shrugged. “Well, then, perhaps I _should_ be. I do wish people would – well, I wish they would mind their own damn business!”

“It’s only human nature,” said Diana. “And it’s your own fault, you know. Edward marrying you out of the blue like that – it was bound to cause talk. They’re all waiting for you to make a fool out of him.”

Julia found it hard to rein in her impatience at everyone else’s stupidity. “Well, they can wait forever, can’t they?”

“It’s nothing,” Diana said, putting a hand to Julia’s arm. “Don’t let it worry you. As you say, they’ll grow tired of it when nothing interesting happens – and, you know, I do believe someone said you _might_ be going away for the week.”

Julia closed her eyes, laughing again at Diana’s teasing.

 

Edward had arranged everything – he had rented a cottage in Northumberland from someone Mr Harding knew, and even if there was something a little ironic about waiting for the middle of winter to head as far north as you could get and still be in England, Julia was very happy about the idea. She’d had a few qualms when he first suggested it, mainly because she wondered if that meant he had some reason for not wishing her to share Christmas with his family and she hadn’t quite liked to ask.

As she’d told Diana, the only other time they’d been away together had been the three and a half days that had made up their honeymoon. That time had been unexpectedly nice, but everything had been very uncertain and awkward for months afterwards. It was only what they deserved for making such an odd arrangement that was and wasn’t at all a marriage of convenience, but it was only in the last month or so that she’d finally been able to tell Edward that she loved him too, and had done from nearly the beginning. But even now, between all the politics, their hired help, Mrs Crosbie, and various friends and relations, wanted and unwanted, there were always other things else cutting into their time together.

Julia was still feeling ridiculously happy when they caught the train out of King’s Cross, sitting together in a first class carriage and gradually watching London disappear behind them. It felt so odd sometimes, to be happy at all, she thought as she stared out of the window, seeing first all the uneven rows of drab houses that made out the outskirts of London, and intermittently, her ghostly face smiling back at her in the window, as they went into another tunnel. It seemed to have been a long time of first worrying, then grieving, and all the while being so very lonely, that the feeling was unfamiliar, even alarming.

“Do you think it might snow?” she asked Edward, a couple of hours later, as the train drew out of York, glimpsing beyond the station, the towers of the Minster, fairy tale-like in the fading afternoon light. “Would we be stuck there till spring?”

Edward laughed. “You sound as if you’re hoping we might be.”

“Well, I don’t think I’d mind too much,” she said, threading her fingers through his. “For a week or two at least.”

He smiled at her. “We did promise Diana we’d be back for her New Year’s party.”

“Oh, yes,” she said, turning her head. “Are you _sure_ your family won’t be offended, with us going away like this?”

Edward squeezed her hand lightly. “I shouldn’t think so for a minute. Even if they are, I’m afraid there’s no hope they’ll stop talking to us. Besides, it’s a little late to change our minds now, you know.”

“Good,” said Julia, but she worried again, which was almost a relief, since the happiness had started to feel unnerving. 

He frowned slightly. “Julia, I thought this might be nice, all considered – and I did wonder if you might find it easier this way. I didn’t know whether you might find it something of an ordeal, getting through a family affair like that.” When she gave him a startled look in response, he added, “Don’t you remember, before the wedding, when we stayed with Amy, and you were – upset?”

“Oh,” Julia said. She didn’t know whether to be somewhat nettled at the idea that she couldn’t cope with such a simple thing, or touched that he’d remembered an incident that she’d already forgotten. She would have liked to think that wouldn’t happen again, but she hadn’t considered it in that light. It might have been draining, she admitted inwardly, and then had to give up on herself, since now she found herself feeling stupidly happy at his concern.

Edward reached for his newspaper and gave her what she knew to be a deceptively solemn look. “Anyway,” he said, reverting to the start of the conversation, “I think it’s forecast to rain. We stand more chance of being flooded out than snowed in, but let’s hope not.”

“But it’s the north!” said Julia. “What is the point if it doesn’t snow?”

Edward shrugged, and then looked amused. “I’m sorry, I could arrange everything else, but that one’s outside my power…”

 

They made it into Newcastle before six, emerging into the smoke of central station in time to find a table for dinner at one of the nearby hotels. After that, they had to hurry back to the station to catch a train on to Morpeth and from there, a taxi cab to the cottage.

The next day was Christmas Eve, and so full of preparations. Edward headed up the lane to where Harding’s friend had assured him there was a farm that could supply them with milk and other odd fresh items, while Julia took the delivery of the hamper (from a rather disgruntled driver who thought the village and cottage had both been a bit too far out of his way), and then turned her attention to trying to decorate. Nothing much, she thought, even if she had been able to, but she put on her coat and headed out into the damp to see about maybe at least finding one or two sprigs of holly.

At the end of the day, they walked down to the tiny Anglo-Saxon church in the village for the evening service, and Julia found herself getting teary eyed merely at that, so she wondered again if Edward had had a point. Her last few Christmases had been a lot less festive – the previous two, she’d been alone, away from home, and before that there had been what now seemed to have been an endless period of war, and while she’d had some friends, it hadn’t been the same as it had been growing up. Mother had always loved Christmas. It was full of the things she’d liked – decorations and parties, buying presents and planning surprises – everything, in fact, Julia thought with a smile at the memory. 

She thought about all those other Christmases quite hard on the way back, hand in hand with Edward, not able to feel safe enough to think about this one, that it was starting a new tradition together. It was best not to, not yet.

 

The next morning, Julia woke as Edward disappeared somewhere, and then returned with a tea tray.

“I was going to do that,” said Julia, stifling a yawn, as she pulled herself up against the pillows, and then gave a shiver at the cold.

Edward gave her a smile. “I was rather determined that you wouldn’t. Holiday tradition, you know.”

“Oh, well,” said Julia, smiling back, though she felt some of her anxiety of the previous evening return at his words, “of course, if it’s tradition, who am I to argue?”

He leaned into kiss her, and said Merry Christmas, and she had to hide a further sense of fear, turning aside to make a performance of finding her dressing gown and complaining about the cold, anything to avoid the sense of things, if only temporarily, being too perfect to be true. They’d cheated, she thought, and they’d have to pay for it. They hadn’t done anything about getting married or falling in love in the right order or the right way. They’d gone straight to Go and collected £200 without following the rules or landing on all the proper squares first.

“Julia?” said Edward, and she gave him a guilty look, wondering how she could explain such ridiculous alarm to him, but then he only said, in mild puzzlement, “Well? You did want tea, didn’t you?” 

 

Despite her best intentions, she still found it a difficult day to get through, silly as that was. As if it was fine to be happy on any other day of the week or month, or as if this could be described as perfect, when they were here in weather that remained obstinately wet and not at all snowy, and she was with Edward who wouldn’t even hold her hand in church last night because he didn’t think it was appropriate (and who fussed far too much about putting his clothes away neatly each night, even when half of them were bound to be going in the laundry the next morning).

She covered herself by claiming to be worried about the dinner, which she wasn’t; it was all quite straight forward, even with Edward theoretically helping, and it wasn’t as if anyone else was here. If she had burned something, it would only have been a joke between them.

By the time that was done and eaten, she was feeling far less wary of everything and more inclined to laugh at herself. And she had a more genuine worry to occupy her mind now – that of whether or not he would like the present she’d bought him. She hoped so. It had taken rather a lot of thought, and much walking up and down of Charing Cross Road, but it might have been better not to try so hard.

“It is a little odd without a tree, isn’t it?” said Edward, observing the room.

Julia pointed to the holly she’d used to decorate the mantelpiece. “I tried my best.”

“I’m sorry,” said Edward. “Yes, of course. I see it now. That’s clearly much better.”

Julia bit back a laugh. “Thank you kindly. Now, do sit down, and open this first because I’ve been worrying that it’s the wrong thing since November.”

“But –” said Edward, and then stopped himself, as he sat beside her on the sofa. 

Julia had to look away to hide her amusement. “Oh, I am sorry, darling. Is there a set order for these things?”

“No,” said Edward, but still hesitated.

She poked him and laughed as she handed the parcel to him. “Oh, but clearly there is, in your mind at least. I tell you what, you open that and put me out of my misery first, and then we’ll do the rest in order, and I won’t open yours till last. Does that sound reasonable?”

“No, it sounds entirely unfair,” said Edward, trying not to laugh himself. “However, if you insist, of course.”

Julia settled herself in more comfortably. “I do, I’m afraid.”

He untied the bow and set about unwrapping the three obviously book-shaped packages, with Julia watching intently for his reaction.

“You’ll never believe how long I spent studying your bookshelves,” she said, as he opened the first. “So at least I know that you haven’t got those, although of course, I don’t know if you’ll want them – but I did try very hard, so that counts for something, doesn’t it?”

He’d reached the second now, distracted enough by looking at the two books – both history – so as not to take in what she was saying. “Hmm?”

“Nothing,” said Julia, and smiled, because that was definitely a good sign. “The other one,” she added, as he slowly pulled off the paper, “is because I’ve noticed a strange thing when I go to the library. You see, whenever I get back and decide that I shall now try and read that interesting murder I picked up, it’s always been stolen – and you’ll never guess where I keep finding them.”

He laughed. “Julia! Thank you.”

“Good,” she said, and smiled at him in relief. 

They opened the few other presents, then, mostly from his relatives, although there was one from her uncle, which she’d been extremely annoyed to receive, all the more so because Edward had insisted she buy her uncle something from them, however small. He was her only close living relative, and he was bound to give her something, he’d said, and she’d initially argued with him over it, since the last thing she felt like doing to Uncle Lionel was giving him a present, and she’d claimed that he was a heartless old man who probably didn’t bother with Christmas anyway, not unlike Scrooge, so his arrival one afternoon last week to wish them merry Christmas and hand over a gift had not gone down well with Julia, although Edward had at least got to say that he’d told her so.

Julia realised then that they’d opened the last present, with one important omission, and she looked at Edward, knowing he was teasing her, keeping her waiting, except that she couldn’t help feeling suddenly uncertain again. Maybe this week was the present? Maybe everything was. When you looked at it that way, he’d given her so much already.

Edward leaned forward and grinned. “Close your eyes,” he said.

“Oh, really,” said Julia, but she obeyed, trying at the same time not to laugh over her momentary foolishness. She opened her eyes again, when she felt him place the present in her lap. She pulled off the paper and opened up the case inside, realising that it must be some kind of jewellery. She found herself looking at a silver necklace, with delicate sprays of tiny diamonds hanging down from it, and matching earrings, and it was too much suddenly in every way possible.

She dropped the box, feeling light-headed and slightly sick. It was too perfect, too much, as if somehow it made her exactly what all the gossips seemed to think she was – in this marriage for everything she could get from him. And underneath it lay the terror at trying to reach for more than she’d been permitted from life, or at least more than she deserved.

“Julia,” he said, his teasing humour falling swiftly into dismay at her reaction. “Don’t you like it? I wasn’t sure – but you don’t have to keep it –”

She didn’t have any idea how to answer him; she merely shook her head, not so much in answer as to ward away his questions, and then she jumped up and left the room at a run, convinced for one moment that she actually _was_ going to be sick, but by the time she reached the door, the feeling had passed, and she sank down on the doorstep, heedless of the damp and cold, shaken and ashamed of herself. She leant her head against the doorway and tried not to cry. It wasn’t really the gift itself, she supposed, only the culmination of the fear that had been dogging her, not only this holiday, but from the first moment she’d truly realised what she’d done in marrying Edward.

It was an unexpected gift she’d been given, and she was too afraid to accept it fully. She knew it wasn’t rational to feel this way, but it was a deep down, illogical conviction she hadn’t yet been able to shake; that if she let go of these worries and took hold of this, of Edward, that she would inevitably lose him. The people she loved were always taken away; that was how it was.

“Julia,” said Edward from somewhere behind her. She didn’t turn around to look. He sounded as if he was trying with difficulty to reserve judgement, probably understandably annoyed at her odd behaviour. “At least come back inside.”

She breathed in, wondering if she might feel sick again, but she didn’t, so she stood cautiously and turned around to look at him. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It wasn’t your present, not really. It was only –” She let her voice tail away and shrugged.

“I merely thought you might like it,” he said, sounding stiff, and she had to blink back mixed tears and amusement at his understandable bafflement. “I can see I should have let you choose.”

She pushed the door shut behind her, and wiped away her tears. “Oh, no, Edward. Don’t – it isn’t that, I promise.” She gave a slight laugh. “It was too nice! I just –” She stopped again, wondering how to explain the rest of it to him.

“It won’t be a problem to return it,” he said, evidently doubting her, and she could hardly blame him. “You don’t need to pretend.”

Julia straightened herself, her back still against the door, and raised her chin. “Oh, no, no, you don’t understand,” she said, moving forward, and taking his arm. “Honestly, it isn’t that. I think it might be the most beautiful thing anyone’s ever given me, and if you take it back to the shop, I shall never speak to you again!”

Her hyperbole won a small smile from him, and she let him usher back into the cosier sitting room.

“Then, Julia, _why_?” he asked, putting his hand to her shoulder. “Aren’t you feeling well?”

She walked past him, back to the sofa, and then sat down beside it on the rug by the fire. “No, not really.” She could lie, she thought, but it wouldn’t be the best idea. “Oh, Ned, it’s all so silly. Please, forget it. And the necklace is lovely, honestly, and it’ll go so well with the dress for Diana’s party.”

“I thought it might do,” he said, “but I’m hardly the best judge of these things.”

Julia closed her eyes. “It was only – a little too much. Everything was so nice already, and sometimes – sometimes people talk about us, you know. Because the marriage was so sudden. And they say – well, you know what they say.”

“Yes, but you and I know that’s not true,” he said, and then sat down beside her. “Don’t we?” he asked, looking at her.

She nodded. “Except that in some ways, they are right. What exactly is my end of the bargain, Edward? A few dinner parties here and there, and then all I do is – just take everything. I don’t like that being true.”

“Oh, honestly, Julia!” he said in sudden impatience. “What do you think I am? And it isn’t a bargain any more, not like that. Isn’t that what you told me? Or was that a lie?”

“No, no!” said Julia. “You know I meant it.”

Edward gave a slight, helpless shrug. “Well, then,” he said, as if that was answer to everything and Julia didn’t need him to explain. If she loved him, as she claimed, how could she talk of not giving him anything?

Julia hunched a little, beginning to feel merely petty and unreasonable. “It made my present look so stupid and small.”

“No, it didn’t,” said Edward. “Julia! You know, someone was telling me the other day that women shouldn’t work – makes them too independent. I thought he was talking nonsense, but perhaps he has a point.”

Julia lifted her head, unable to help rising to the bait. “Oh?” she said. “Who was that, exactly? I shall certainly cross them off the dinner list.”

“It’s no sillier to give very much credence to that sort of thing, than taking to heart to what other people say about us.” He slid his arm around her, and gave her a sidelong, humorous look. “Or do you think they know things that we don’t? It is _possible_ , I suppose.”

She bit her lip, feeling that she might easily cry if she let herself laugh, and, anyway, he was quite obviously trying to nudge her into a better mood and she wasn’t sure she wanted to let him, if for no other reason than pure pig-headedness. “Oh, be all logical,” she said.

“I’m not,” he said, more seriously. “Logic would suggest that you _must_ have disliked something about the necklace – or that you had been lying, wouldn’t it?”

Julia shot him an alarmed look.

“As it happens,” he said, tilting his head as he met her gaze, “I find that an awful lot of people aren’t always very logical, don’t you?”

She did laugh, then, and leant against him. “I can’t help it,” she said. “It’s not only that, you see, but I get so scared – as if I’m simply asking for fate to take you away if I’m not careful. If everything’s too perfect, even for a moment, then – I suppose I panic. I know that certainly isn’t logical, but it doesn’t stop me feeling that way. Perhaps you haven’t noticed, but it isn’t the first time this has happened, and I’m sorry.”

Edward didn’t say anything immediately, though he tightened his hold on her, and she looked up them as she realised he was trying not to laugh.

“Edward!”

“Well, Julia,” he said, still smiling as he looked at her, “you come with a curse attached, do you, like some Egyptian relic? I knew there had to be a catch somewhere.”

Julia drew in her breath to try and answer him, but he kissed her instead, and she didn’t really feel inclined to be as annoyed as she probably should be about that.

“I don’t mean to be unkind,” he said, with one hand still touching her face, lightly. “I’m sure it must have been difficult for you – but do you think that everyone else who suffered similar losses during the War has to share that curse, or is it only you?”

Julia pressed her head in against him. “Only me, of course,” she said, and while she was amused, too, she couldn’t help feeling nervous. She’d told him that she loved him; she hadn’t told him before that she still didn’t really have anyone else and that she was terrified of losing him. That wasn’t a wise thing to admit, and now she had, quite clearly, even if in a roundabout way. She thought then about how she’d drawn his confession of his feelings out of him that first week together, and the way she’d felt sometimes since then as if she had an unfair advantage. Now, the advantage was his, and she felt shaken in ways both good and bad. It wasn’t what she’d planned on giving him today, but it seemed she had.

“Julia,” he said, pushing her away gently, so that he could kiss her again. “Something will happen one day; that’s life, it’s guaranteed. And I can understand the feeling, but –”

She put her arms around him, cutting him short. “I know,” she said, indistinctly. “I know. It’s so silly.”

“Now, I didn’t say that,” he told her, stroking her hair. “And you needn’t worry. Perfection is probably beyond us, anyway. Certainly, if it makes you feel better, I’m sure we can manage to argue again before the day is out – one day, I may even be cruel enough to give you jewellery again!”

Julia laughed, and then pulled him in against her, closing her eyes. “No, it _is_ stupid of me,” she said in his ear, before kissing him in return. She still felt light-headed with nerves, and perhaps simultaneously with relief. She hung onto him, and then added, “Well, you were right, you know. It would never have done for us to have gone to your family.”

“Quite,” he said. “It would definitely be frowned upon to carry on like this in the living room.”

It was much, much too late to panic, and had been for a long while. There was nothing she could do to make the hurt of losing him less when it came; she supposed the same was probably true of him, and there was no reason not to steal any moments of happiness that came their way. She had, she thought, been in much too deep from the start.


	37. I Don't Want To See Caroline (G, 1949: Edward Iveson/Julia Graves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julia is fully capable of being unreasonable enough for two when needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New Year 1949/50; Julia Graves, Edward Iveson. (The title is from a song, and I couldn’t help myself, sorry.)
> 
> Prompts: Papaya #13 (take that!)
> 
> Notes/warnings: References to divorce.

Edward looked into the full length mirror in the wardrobe as he adjusted his bow tie, and then, that done, he cast a glance over at Julia, who was sitting at the dressing table, putting in her earrings.

He coughed, working himself up to an announcement he’d put off until this moment. “I suppose,” he said, “I should warn you that there is a very good chance that Caroline will also be there tonight.”

Julia turned, and raised an eyebrow. “ _Oh_?” she said. 

“Yes,” he said, unable to interpret her expression and feeling even more uncomfortable. “She and Diana are friends, you understand.”

Julia stared back at him still, and then she laughed suddenly, and helplessly. He could only watch, bemused, until she pulled herself together and said, “And you only thought to mention this _now_? You didn’t think to warn me sooner that I might run into Caroline at any moment? Which I have, you know. Three times!”

“Oh,” said Edward, and shot her a wary look, shifting his position slightly in his guilt. “I hadn’t thought. Our paths don’t really cross all that often. I did wonder about that evening that Diana invited us over, but then I was sure she wouldn’t deliberately create such an awkward situation.”

Julia laughed again, and then looked at him, and leant forward, on the point of speaking before drawing back.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Well, I only wanted to know – purely out of interest – when you see her is she oppressively nice to you as well?”

Edward wasn’t sure how to respond, so he merely said, “Oh?”

“She was so pleased to see me the first time – and then the second time she talked to me earnestly for nearly half an hour. I think she even held my hand at one point. She was being kind – I suppose she didn’t want any of the gossips to think there was any bad feeling between us – and, of course, she so clearly meant every word.” Julia sighed. “I must be an awful person, because I immediately wanted to throw things at her.”

Edward knew exactly what Julia meant, but he’d spent too many years avoiding being critical of Caroline aloud to say so readily. “Oh, dear,” he said.

“After that,” Julia continued, “I felt that you had had a lucky escape – really, I don’t know how you survived three months. Or perhaps you _did_ throw things at her? Did she forgive you, like a saint?”

“Julia!”

She got up from the chair and crossed to the bed to sit beside him on the end of it. “And I do wonder how her current husband copes. I suppose, as a policeman, he’d be in a good position to get away with murder if he needed to it and that thought carries him through.”

Edward refused to look at her; even so, he had to maintain a straight face or the mirror would betray him. “Julia, I don’t think you should –”

“The first time, of course, I thought it was just me being horribly unfair, because of – well – you – everything. But after the first ten minutes of the second meeting, I wanted to rush straight out and do something dreadful. I didn’t, of course, but don’t tell me you didn’t ever feel like that.” Julia leant against him momentarily; a teasing movement to match her mood. “And I expect the whole divorce involved everybody being painfully polite and Caroline being so very sorry about it all – quite genuinely, of course, which is the most unfair thing, because then it makes one feel obliged not to complain.”

Edward risked a glance at Julia, and found her watching him, one eyebrow slightly raised, and with a smile lurking under the surface of her face. “It was – rather like that,” he said, and then he thought about everything that had happened back then, especially the fact that it wouldn’t be untrue to say that he _had_ rushed out and done something dreadful, and he had to laugh.

“Well,” said Julia, her smile overt now, “let me be unreasonable for you.”

He put his hand on her arm. “I’m not sure I like the sound of that.”

“Oh, this is all I mean,” she said. “I’ll never make a scene in public, or be rude to Caroline, don’t worry. Well, I might if she tries to talk to you for half an hour and hold _your_ hand.”

“She won’t,” said Edward, and then couldn’t help adding, “thank God.”

Julia shot him an amused, triumphant glance. “You _do_ feel the same about it, don’t you?”

“Oppressively nice,” said Edward, looking into the mirror again. He didn’t want to start being unfair to Caroline, but it was such an accurate way of putting it that it was a huge relief to say the words. “Oh, God, yes.”

Julia got to her feet, and held out her hand to him. “At least with me, you know I’ll just come straight out and be unreasonable at you. I might even throw things.”

“It is a considerable comfort,” Edward said.


	38. All the Little Things (PG, 1950: Edward Iveson/Julia Graves, Amyas Harding, Diana Foyle.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s the little things that add up in the end…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1950, Julia Graves/Edward Iveson, Amyas Harding, Diana Foyle. 
> 
> Prompts: Coffee #10 (vase), Passionfruit #16 (Sing, and the hills will answer) + Malt – Prompt from the Hat (Julia: all the little things)
> 
> Notes/Warnings: blood/minor injury.

It had only been a small vase, already slightly chipped, and Julia hadn’t meant to drop it on the tiles of the kitchen floor, but she panicked over it anyway. What if, she thought, it was valuable? Or a family heirloom, something that had been his mother’s or grandmother’s? It was a silly thing to get worked up about and she knew it, but it wasn’t really the vase. She swept up the fragments and couldn’t fail to be reminded again of everything she didn’t know about Edward. It was her own fault for agreeing to such a topsy-turvy sort of marriage, she supposed. It only felt worse now because everything had been going so _well_ lately, and suddenly here she was, tripped up by uncertainty again.

It made her stupidly nervous about confessing her crime later, when Edward was home again, and she hesitated as she made the attempt.

“Whatever is it?” asked Edward, looking apprehensive himself at her attitude. “Julia?”

She drew in her breath as she propped her elbows on the table, having cleared away the dinner things (without any further breakages). “Promise you won’t be angry.”

“Well, that’s not very reassuring,” he said. “You know, if you’ve spent your afternoon robbing a bank, you had better confess and see if I can help you with an alibi.”

Julia laughed. “I’m saving that for tomorrow. I’m just terribly afraid that I broke the vase from the sitting room.”

“Is there one?” he asked, looking blank.

She pulled a rueful face. “There _was_. I am sorry. I’ll see if I can find another like it –” She stopped on seeing his puzzled, almost hurt expression. “What? What is it? I really didn’t mean to, you know.”

“No, of course not,” he said, and leaned in towards her slightly. “I was just – why would you think I’d be angry over something like that?”

Julia stared down at the table. “I didn’t _know_ ,” she said, a little incoherently. “If it was valuable, I mean – or if it had belonged to the family for years.”

“No,” said Edward, beginning to look amused. “I don’t know, but I suspect it might have been in that collection of things Amy brought up before you arrived. She seemed to think there were a lot of essential small domestic items I wouldn’t have, and you would want. So, please, find another, if you like. I’d certainly trust your judgment over Amy’s!”

Julia gave him a small smile, hiding the fact that she still felt foolish and a little frustrated because he hadn’t understood what she’d meant about not knowing what it was she’d broken. She supposed she couldn’t blame him: she wasn’t entirely sure she did, either, but it wasn’t the vase, that was the thing – it was all the other unknowns it represented.

~o~

She forgot the incident first, though, it seemed. Two weeks later, Edward returned from a meeting up in Derby with a particularly pleased look on his face, and presented her with a small, green vase with white flowers painted on it.

“Oh!” she said, taking hold of it, and turning it around in her hands, as he smiled. “But I thought you went for a meeting?”

Edward gave her a grin. “I did,” he said, “but they did let us out, if only briefly. It does happen, you know. And I saw that on a stall – it’s nothing very much. So, you see, you needn’t worry about breaking this one, either.”

“I don’t make a habit of breaking things,” said Julia, but she stretched up and kissed him. “There’s no need to make it sound as if I do. And I _would_ mind, because it’s perfect. Thank you!”

He kissed her in return, but then pulled back suddenly. “Oh,” he said. “I should have thought, shouldn’t I? I should have bought something to put in it while I was at the station.”

“Don’t worry, darling,” said Julia, patting his arm. “I’ve been thinking of climbing over the wall and stealing next door’s Sweet Williams, anyway. It’ll give me something to do if I get bored.”

Edward gave her an uncertain look, but said, “Well, I promise – next time I will.”

~o~

Next time Edward had to go away, it was for a week, to Germany. He was Parliamentary Secretary to Mr Morley, the Foreign Secretary, so it wasn’t surprising, Julia knew that. She found, though, that she minded it far more than she had expected. It wasn’t so much his being away as the leave-taking itself. The last time she’d said farewell to anyone she cared about, going to the continent like this, it had been final. On wishing Edward a good trip (and of course demanding that next time she should be allowed to go with him), she discovered an irrational fear on the subject that she forced herself to hide until he’d left.

Having the house to herself was of course all very well for a while, but it made for a long week and a bit. _Admit it_ , Julia said to herself, _you’re turning into a terribly clingy wife. I hope you’re ashamed of yourself._

She thought about it, and decided she wasn’t, or at least, not very much.

 

He came home earlier than she’d expected, however, turning up on the Thursday evening when he wasn’t supposed to be back until Friday lunchtime at least. On seeing him enter, Julia jumped up from her chair. “Edward!” she said, catching hold of him, and then stretching up to put her arms around his neck, pulling him down to kiss him.

“Julia,” he said, in warning, pushing her away gently. “ _Julia_.”

She drew back herself, hurt, but saw then that Mr Harding had come into the room behind Edward. “Oh!” she said, and then did her best to recover her self-possession, moving forwards to shake Harding’s hand. “Mr Harding. How very nice to see you.”

“Oh, don’t I get the same welcome?” he countered with a smile. “No?”

Julia smiled back. “No, certainly not. Would you like anything to drink – tea – coffee – something stronger?”

“I think a cup of tea would be quite sufficient for the moment,” Harding said.

Julia fled, annoyed with herself. She had, she thought, been doing so well at playing at being a very model of a political hostess, but throwing herself at her husband in front of a member of the Cabinet must definitely damage that performance. She hid in the kitchen and put the kettle on to boil instead, caught between trying not to laugh and hoping that Edward wasn’t annoyed.

“Julia,” said Edward, poking his head around the kitchen door. “I’m so sorry – he wanted to discuss something and I could hardly refuse –”

She smiled to herself, before she hid it, and turned around to face him. “Oh, I know, darling,” she said, crossing over to him, and smoothing down his lapel. “He followed you home and you didn’t have the heart to throw him out. But, Edward, you simply _can’t_ keep every politician you meet.”

“Julia –”

She tried to still look innocent. “You promised me _flowers_ ,” she reminded him. “And all you bring me is the President of the Board of Trade. It really isn’t the same. I don’t think he’d go in my vase at all.”

“Julia, stop it,” Edward said, unable to help laughing. He kissed her lightly. “And he won’t be here forever, you know.”

She nodded. “Just until you’ve discussed whatever it is, however long that takes you. Don’t worry, it’s quite all right. I’ll find a book to tide me over – I’m sure there’s a copy of _War and Peace_ somewhere about the house.” Then she let go of him. “You’d better go back before he comes looking. The tea won’t be long."

 

Edward came in search of her sooner than she’d expected. When she said as much, he gave her an amused look, and said, “Well, I think you did rather make Harding feel like a gooseberry.”

“Oh, dear,” said Julia, but not very repentantly. She smiled upwards at him. “I’m so sorry.”

Edward laughed and leant over to take the book from her. “From what I hear, it’ll be a novel sensation for him. I wouldn’t worry.” He glanced at the cover of the book. “And this – this isn’t _War and Peace_.”

“I was feeling optimistic after all,” said Julia.

He passed the book back, and then held out a hand to her, and when she took it, helped her to stand up on the seat of the sofa. “Now, what was it you wanted to say to me?”

“Oh, yes,” said Julia, putting her arms around him. “Ned, where are my flowers?”

~o~

Julia leant back against the wall, and, as Colonel North walked past, caught gratefully at his arm. “Oh, Colonel, would you fetch Edward for me? I’m afraid I don’t feel well.”

“My dear,” said the Colonel, and instantly ushered her across to a chair. “Of course! You’ll be all right there for a bit, yes?”

Julia nodded, and the Colonel told her she was a good girl, and then gallantly gave her his brandy before departing. She rather wished he hadn’t, feeling both shaken and silly, holding onto the glass and wanting to put it down. To her relief, though, nobody else was looking at her at least. It seemed whole ages, though, before she heard the Colonel’s voice again, and the next moment, Edward was there.

He took the glass away, and then sat down beside her, taking hold of her hands, which caused her to have to bite her lip at the unexpected pain. Edward drew back a little. “It’s all right,” he said, without asking questions. Her reaction had probably alerted him to the fact that she hadn’t just gone down with the influenza or something similar. “I’ll take you home.”

“Thank you,” she said, letting him help her up. “It isn’t anything much, but I really think that would be best.”

The Colonel had evidently also told their hostess, as Diana Foyle bore down on them as they reached the hallway. “Here’s her coat,” Diana said, passing it over, without any further comment. “And I commandeered the cab at the door for you.”

“You shouldn’t have,” said Edward, with his arm still round Julia. “She’s just a little under the weather, I think.”

“Making a silly fuss,” Julia agreed.

 

Out in the car, Edward looked at her. “Julia, what is it? What happened?”

She found she didn’t really feel up to explaining it all, so she pulled up the sleeve of her dress, revealing a bandage that must have been applied rather inexpertly, as the blood seeping through now that the wound had started bleeding again. It had all been all right, she thought, until somebody had knocked into her.

“Julia!” he said. “Don’t try to tell me you did that at the party.”

She shook her head, leaning against him. “I’ll explain when we get home. I’ll be fine then.”

“Excuse me,” said Edward, as he leant forwards to speak to the driver. “Where’s the nearest hospital with a casualty department? That’s where we need to go, thank you.”

Julia shook her head at him in alarm.

“Don’t be silly,” Edward told her. “Now, what happened? Did somebody do this?”

She’d gone out to meet her contact for only the second time since she’d been back in England. She met the man at the headquarters of a charity based up in North London, since it seemed like a good cover. There’d been trouble outside and somebody had flung a brick through the window, and she’d been unlucky enough to be caught by some of the fragments, putting up her hand to cover her face. She knew espionage was supposed to dangerous, but it wasn’t even that – nobody could have known; it was just stupid bad luck. “There was glass,” she said, sounding as vague as she was feeling. She found she was leaning against him once more. “And somebody there helped, but my – someone thought I should go before the police arrived. And it was all fine until someone was clumsy this evening. I don’t need to go to the hospital.”

“The doctor won’t know how it happened and I don’t suppose it would give anything away if he did,” said Edward. “But if you’re worried, just tell him you broke something.”

Julia had to smile and said, weakly, “What, a vase? Unlikely story.”

“Something like that,” said Edward, and she could hear the smile in his voice in return. He put his arm around her carefully, as he kissed her hair. “You should be more careful.”

 

The doctor, when they saw him, was of the reassuring opinion that what was chiefly wrong with her was the shock more than the injury, though he did tell her that whoever had patched her up earlier didn’t seem to have known what they were doing, extracted a remaining glass splinter, and told her off for leaving it so long and for going to a party, which Julia felt was unnecessary by that point. The nurse then bandaged the arm properly for her, and the doctor finished by telling her that it was all nothing to worry about, but she should at least try to rest the arm for the next day or so. “You’ll have to make the tea, Mr Iveson,” he told Edward, with ponderous humour.

“I’m sure I shall be equal to the occasion,” said Edward, and the deceptive solemnity in his voice warned Julia to avoid looking at him if she didn’t want to offend the doctor by laughing.

 

The next day, Edward returned at lunch time with flowers. Julia thanked him and admired them properly, but then looked up at him. “They’re very nice,” she said, “but I don’t have to make a blood sacrifice every time, do I?”


	39. Trouble (1950: Edward Iveson/Julia Graves)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julia and Edward nearly come apart at the seams over a cat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feb 1950; Edward Iveson/Julia Graves.
> 
> Prompts: White Chocolate #19 (rage) + Malt – January Games Week I ( _And, on a slightly random note: has anyone from your canon ever had a pet that they were particularly close to/that was especially important to them?_ from fachefaucheux.)
> 
> Notes/warnings: domestic rows, mention of historical harm to animals.

Everything had been going so well since Edward and Julia had finally acknowledged that their marriage was no matter of convenience. There had been small troubles and misunderstandings but nothing like the row that had blown up out of nowhere over the neighbours’ cat. It was such a stupidly small incident to have turned into something that threatened to divide them.

Next door’s cat had developed a habit of slipping in the door the moment Julia opened it to take in the milk, and on this particular morning, it had got into the dining room before she noticed. She’d found it in there a few minutes later choking and clearly about to bring up a fur ball or grass it had eaten and she’d got the newspaper under it just in time. It just turned out that she’d grabbed this morning’s paper rather than yesterday’s and Edward, coming down for breakfast a few minutes later, got ridiculously annoyed over it. 

“Why was the cat even in here?” he had demanded, taking the seat at the table. “Julia!”

She had turned back with a laugh, only for it to slowly fade as she watched him. “Goodness, you’re serious, aren’t you? Don’t be silly.”

“Of course,” he said, the set of his shoulders stiffening. “I need to see the morning’s news before I do anything – couldn’t you have been more careful? I don’t see that it would have been so much worse just to clean up the carpet afterwards instead of sacrificing the paper.”

Julia looked at him. “Well, no, I don’t suppose you do!”

All would have no doubt been well before the end of the day, since Edward came home fully apologetic, but unfortunately late and in the meantime, Julia had grown more furious herself at his unreasonable behaviour and had been waiting hours to tell him exactly what she thought of him for shouting at her over the demise of a mere newspaper. And when he came in, ready to say sorry, she didn’t even give him the chance. Once she’d finished storming at him, he withdrew into terse, offended politeness for the rest of the evening.

She had stolen back downstairs later to find him in the living room and she had sat on the arm of his chair. “I’m sorry, darling,” she said. “Come on, we can’t let such a silly thing come between us.”

“Of course not,” he’d said, without looking at her, but then he’d got up without a further word and left her sitting there. When she’d followed him upstairs, he wasn’t in the bedroom, and it took her till too late to realise that was because he’d taken himself into the spare room for the night, as if they’d suddenly turned the clock back to last autumn.

Julia had lain there, awake, and growing angry again herself, which had manifested itself in the morning in responding to his stiff politeness with her very best performance of the perfect housewife, an impenetrable barrier to proper conversation. He had come home much earlier that day and made tentative overtures of normality, which she’d been glad of but ignored, waiting for the moment when she felt she’d made him pay enough for making such a fuss in the first place. But, to her dismay, come the night, she’d found herself alone again and suddenly too worried to go into see him. What if, she’d thought, it wasn’t about the stupid cat, what if that was only the last exasperating straw for him, and he was tired of her?

It might have finally blown over in the morning if Julia, hurt by his abstraction over the latest (unmolested) edition of the newspaper, hadn’t snapped out, “Well, I can see why you had to resort to a marriage of convenience if you’re this unreasonable in the mornings! If I’d known, I’d never have married you. I don’t suppose anyone would.”

Edward looked up slowly, but he didn’t say anything.

Somehow his silence only goaded Julia into finding the worst possible thing she could say: “I wouldn’t stay if I had anywhere else to go – if it wouldn’t ruin everything to cause you another scandal!” When he still didn’t say anything, she added, “And anyway, I was assigned to you by the organisation, wasn’t I? I suppose I can’t neglect my duty.”

Still without a word, he put the newspaper and left. Julia hesitated, trembling on the edge of running after him, but knowing instinctively that she’d just made him angrier than he’d ever been with her. Or hurt, she’d thought as she heard the front door close behind him, carefully and quietly. He didn’t even have the decency to slam it like any normal person would.

“Oh, damn,” she said.

She’d tried to apologise since, but he wouldn’t let her. He shut her down quietly but with firmness or simply chose not to hear her. 

“Be like that, then,” she’d said that morning, all but ready to throw the marmalade at his head. “I don’t care.”

There was a small meow from somewhere under the table.

“Julia,” said Edward, lowering the paper wearily, “is that blasted cat in here again?”

She’d gone down on her hands and knees to pull it out from under the dining table, holding it against her as it wriggled. “Shut up, you misbegotten moggy,” she said in its ear as she stood. Then she looked down at Edward. “Yes, it is, and I don’t care. At least it shows me some affection occasionally, which is more than I can say for you!”

 

And now, he hadn’t come home at all. It was Saturday and she didn’t even know where he had gone out _to_ in the first place. Julia paced about the living room and wondered if she should telephone his relatives and find out if he was with any of them. Maybe he’d left her, she thought with a lurch of dismay in her stomach at the idea. He _wouldn’t_ , she told herself. Not Edward. He’d just stay with her and ignore her forever. She blinked back tears at that thought and crossed to the window again, pulling back the curtain without much hope. 

She had gone so far past expecting him that it took her a while to realise that the car was parked outside. Julia leant forward, pressing her fingers against the glass, leaning at an angle, because it looked to her as though Edward was still in the car. Oh, _honestly_ , she thought. Was he going to sit there all night?

She hadn’t even paused to notice that without real reason, she already felt immeasurably more cheerful.

 

She walked out to the car and peered in. “Edward,” she said, as she pulled open the passenger door and poked her head inside, “what _are_ you doing?”

“Something stupid,” he said, and then threw her a rueful look that caused her to breathe out in relief, because he was talking to her again now; the impenetrable politeness gone. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking – well, I do, but I was angry –” He stopped and gave a shrug.

Julia stood back as he got out of the car, watching him with her arms folded in against herself at the chill of the foggy evening. “Ned?”

“Look,” he said, tapping his fingers on the roof of the car and not quite raising his gaze to look at her, “you go on in – I’ll explain in just a moment.”

Julia found herself smiling. “All right,” she said. “I shall be waiting very impatiently.”

 

“I thought,” said Edward, carefully putting a box down on the living room carpet, “that if we were finished –” He hesitated again, and then gave her a half-smile. “Well, to be honest I was furious, that was all. I wasn’t thinking straight. I just thought to myself that if what she wants is a cat rather than a husband, she can have one.”

Julia dropped to her knees beside the box. “A cat? Well, come on, let the poor thing out!”

“Poor thing?” said Edward. “I thought it was going to destroy the box on the way home and probably follow that up by savaging me, and I’d be finished off in the resulting traffic accident.”

Julia shook her head at him. “Don’t be ridiculous. But, Edward, I don’t know what I’ve got in for him.”

“I know,” said Edward. Rationing had made it hard on keeping pets, especially dogs, but cats too. A distressing side-effect of the war had been a lot of dogs and cats being killed to save rations. It was much better now, but it would be a lot easier once the restrictions had been relaxed. “But he’s only small yet – still a kitten really. And I did at least think to stop and find a few necessities – a basket at least. I’ve put it in the kitchen.” 

He crouched down and opened the box, revealing a black and white kitten with yellow eyes, small and entirely innocent-looking. Julia reached in and picked up the cat, only to have him dart out of her hold – off round the room and up and down the curtains.

“Trouble, clearly, I see,” she said.

“He didn’t like being cooped up, or the noise of the car, I think. I realise that I shouldn’t have got him – not like that. I did stop on the way home and ask Nancy if she’d have him instead.”

Julia stopped watching the cat and turned her gaze back to Edward, fighting to keep the amusement out of her voice. “You telephoned Nancy and tried to foist a cat onto her?”

“Er, yes,” said Edward. “Isabel was keen, but Nancy told me I should just get on and speak to you first. She was right, of course.”

Julia dipped her head, her lips twitching, as she continued to try and maintain a straight face. “You were so very angry with me that you went out and found me a cat to show me exactly how angry you were?”

“I know,” said Edward, sitting on the floor and leaning back against the sofa. “Not very rational. I thought about turning around and taking him back, but they were having trouble homing some of them and I didn’t really like to think –”

Julia nodded. “No, of course you couldn’t do that. But, darling, I don’t even like next door’s cat very much. It just gets in sometimes.”

“I’m sorry,” said Edward. “I’m sure Nancy and Isabel would take him –”

Julia stood, detaching the black and white kitten from the long curtains, stroking him. He purred loudly. “Oh, no,” she said. “I mean, next door’s is just an unfriendly so-and-so anyway. We have to keep him. It’s clear that he’s ours. Trouble, as I said.”

“No, I am sorry,” said Edward more quietly. “I’ve not behaved well from start to finish of this. I don’t even know what to say.”

Julia released the kitten again, and sat down beside him, giving a tremulous smile. “No, I don’t think you have, but then neither have I. I didn’t mean the awful things I said. I just can’t bear it when you ignore me. Please don’t do that again, Edward, not like that. Don’t go and hide in the spare room. No matter what it is, we can make it all right if you’ll only talk to me. I have a stupid temper, but it rarely lasts long. You should know that by now. And,” she added, casting a glance over at him, “I promise never to wreck your dratted newspaper again.”

“I was in a bad mood,” he said. “It didn’t really matter. I bought another one on the way in to Westminster.”

Julia leant against him, playing with the material of his open jacket as he slid an arm around her tightly. “I don’t like it when you leave me all alone in the dark.”

“Don’t you?” he said, with a smile and a light in his eyes as he leant in to kiss her, only to draw back abruptly with a short yell. “Julia, get it off me, can’t you?”

She stared at him for a moment before understanding his difficulty. Then, laughing, she hastened to detach the kitten, which had run along the sofa seat to jump onto Edward’s back, just where it was most awkward for him to reach, and dug its claws in as it landed. 

“The poor thing probably wants feeding, and there we were, forgetting it already. Come on, Trouble,” she said to the cat, carrying it off towards the kitchen as Edward followed.

“You can’t call him that,” he said, as she poured out a saucer of milk and water, and put it down for the cat.

Julia looked upwards, momentarily still crouching on the lino beside Trouble. “But he _is_. What else could he be?”

“I suppose,” said Edward, giving way to a smile and holding out a hand to her as she stood. “Julia, I am sorry.”

She put her arms around him, pulling him into a too-tight hug. “Me, too. But, Ned, I mean it. Don’t hide from me like that.”

“No, well,” he said, with another brief smile before he kissed her. “I have to say, I’m not all that fond of the spare room, either.”

“And, after all, we can’t go on like that if you’re going to bring home a pet every time you’re angry,” said Julia. “We’d have a menagerie!”


	40. When the Clock Strikes Twelve (PG, 1950: Edward Iveson/Julia Graves, Diana Foyle, Stephen Foyle)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes Julia wishes Edward would approach birthdays like a normal person.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> May 1950; Edward Iveson/Julia Graves, Diana Foyle, Stephen Foyle.
> 
> Prompts: Prune #29 (I’ll get you for this), Cookies & Cream #15 (throw)
> 
> Notes/warnings: references to an unhappy marriage.

“Well,” said Julia, having turned to the subject of her approaching birthday, “it’s too late now to arrange a party – and I’m glad, anyway. I really wouldn’t want any fuss. So, I think –” She stopped, Edward’s expression of dismay having become impossible to ignore. “Oh,” she said. “Ned, what have you done?”

His expression shifted to one of guilt, as he hunched in slightly, but she could see that there was also a small amused lift at the corner of his mouth. “Ah, yes, well, what I was in fact trying to tell you if you’d let me, was that I’m afraid I _have_ arranged for a party. Not a very large one and hopefully not anything you wouldn’t like, but I thought it wouldn’t be much fun for you to have to plan it, so I asked Diana –”

 

“And then,” Julia said, recounting the tale to Diana herself on the day, “he confessed everything, and I really could kill him. I didn’t want a fuss – I thought it would just be us. He will do this sort of thing –” She halted herself, recollecting in time how insensitive it was to grumble about Edward trying too hard to please her when Diana was married to Stephen who only seemed to spend his time reminding Diana how much he hated her.

Diana merely shook her head, pins in her mouth preventing her from replying, as she was busy adjusting Julia’s costume for the evening. It was a theatrical eighteenth century dress in white and yellow with wide skirts, frills at the elbows, and a stiff bodice that Diana was currently taking in. 

Diana pinned the waistline as Julia kept still, and then she rose, surveying her handiwork with some satisfaction. “There! And, Julia, he’s just glad to have you. Is that really so terrible?”

“Oh, I know – ignore me,” said Julia. It was impossible to explain. She didn’t entirely understand all her feelings herself, but she couldn’t help feeling afraid at any too evident displays of happiness between them. She’d think in panic that they should keep it all secret, hide it from the rest of the world, before the spell broke and everything fell back into ashes. Letting everyone else see was only asking for somebody to take it all away. Julia had lost too much already and she couldn’t bear the idea of something happening to Edward. She blinked away tears. And, there, she thought, that was the other thing – she’d probably cry at the party and shame herself, and Edward ought to know better than to do this to her.

Diana knelt down to straighten Julia’s long skirt and flickered a wry glance back up at her. “Well, don’t worry. It won’t last, you know. You’re still in the honeymoon period. Give it another year and you’ll be put out instead because he never even remembers your anniversary or your birthday.”

“I don’t think Edward forgets things like that,” said Julia. “He just stores up information and approaches the whole thing as if it’s a covert operation. Anyway, I’m sorry, Diana. I’m the most thoughtless beast alive to complain about a thing like that to you.”

Diana straightened up again and patted Julia’s arm. “You needn’t worry about me.”

“Whose idea was the fancy dress?” asked Julia, after a pause during which time Diana tucked some more pins in round the sides of her sleeves, tightening them. Julia had been sure from the moment she’d learned of it that that part at least had not come from Edward.

Diana smiled. “Mine, of course. Edward asked me to host and explained that you wouldn’t want anything _too_ large or too much of a fuss, and I thought something to break the ice was a must, anyway, and it’ll mean that the attention will be shared around a little more. Perhaps a little yesteryear, but in the right way, I think.”

“Thank you,” said Julia. “And I promise to at least try not to make a fool of myself and blub in front of everyone. I – I do seem prone to these days.”

Diana gave her a cautious hug, mindful of the pins. “My dear. It doesn’t matter. Nobody is coming that you don’t like – and now that you’ve warned me, I shall make certain to have several clean hankies to hand. Cry all you wish!” 

Julia had to laugh.

“You’ve had a difficult time these last few years,” said Diana. “I expect Edward wants to make it up to you as much as he can.”

It was better not to, Julia thought, her heart beating harder again. Edward should know that – he should know never to tempt fate.

 

“No, no, I’ve not quite done – stay where you are,” Diana said, as she applied the finishing touches to Julia’s hair, which had taken longer than either of them had bargained for. She stood back to survey her handiwork. “Yes, I think that works nicely.”

Julia stared back at herself in the mirror with a pleased smile and nodded, before turning around to face Diana. “I wouldn’t want to do this every day.”

“If you were a real eighteenth century lady, you’d have a maid,” said Diana. “One who knew what she was doing, even. And a wig, or a hairpiece at least.”

Julia glanced around for her watch and found it on the dressing table. “But what about you? Time is getting on.”

“Oh, the first rule of these things is always to find something simple for oneself. I am going to be a nun, so now I merely have to get into the habit.”

Julia shook her head and tried not to groan too loudly. “You must have been waiting all day to say that!”

“Besides,” said Diana, “if we’re blaming Edward for the party, then we ought to pay him back in some way, and I think this should do the trick nicely.”

Julia couldn’t think what she meant. She was sure Diana had said earlier that she had sent over the nearest match to this – whatever that might be – for him, so it couldn’t be his costume, or she certainly hoped not.

“You, idiot,” said Diana, giving her a gentle push back towards the mirror. “I didn’t tell him what you were going as, and even if he works out that your outfit must be from a similar period to his, he still doesn’t know and so –” She stopped and gave an elegant wave of her hand towards Julia.

Julia glanced at herself in the mirror again, raising her head. It _did_ suit her, she thought. She recognised, ruefully, that she never would be the world’s most modest person. “Honestly,” she muttered, if only for appearance’s sake. “Diana!”

Diana only laughed.

 

Once downstairs, Julia paused again to examine herself in the full-length mirror in the hallway. She knew she’d said once to Edward about dressing up for parties, like Mother – at that affair at the Embassy, the one she counted as their first real date, the visit to the theatre being too uncertain and interrupted by unrest in the streets. He had remembered. She laughed to herself and gave a slight twirl.

“So, was it worth it, Cinders?”

Julia swung around more sharply, barely managing to stifle a squeak of alarm at being caught out admiring herself. “Mr Foyle!” She shook herself. “And I’m sorry; I don’t know what you mean.”

“Your bargain,” he said, watching her with a slight, knowing smile as he leant against the banister. “Did you get what you wanted, marrying Iveson?”

She swallowed, realising that for probably the first time she’d met him, he might actually be sober. Somehow it was more disconcerting than his usual drunk sniping at Diana and her guests. She had to swallow back anger, wanting to rage at him for daring to suggest anything of the kind, but the uncomfortable truth was that her marriage had originally been one of convenience and she would rather not lie about that, even to Stephen Foyle. “Yes,” she said instead, setting her face. “Because, as it happens, I love Edward.”

“Nice for you,” he said. “I found mine something of a disappointment – but then, you’ve time for that to come yet.”

Julia felt the warmth rise in her cheeks, even angrier that he would talk to her about Diana in such a way. She stiffened. “Diana has been very kind to me.”

“She would,” he said, peeling himself off the side of the banister. “Any waifs and strays, and Diana’s all over them. If they’re not even English, all the better.”

That was too old and tiresome a thrust for Julia to keep from glaring openly at him. “I am English. Sometimes I wish I weren’t, of course.”

“You know what I mean. Your family is German.”

Julia recognised the underlying hate; it was familiar enough by now. She’d had it first at school and enough other times during the war. She understood why, of course, but it was always unpleasant, sometimes even frightening. “Please excuse me – I need to find Diana.”

“Of course,” said Stephen, mocking again, and standing aside with exaggerated politeness. “And don’t worry, I’m not attending. I have an appointment with a relative, but I’m sure we’ll meet again.”

Julia brushed past him, and emerged into the kitchen, where Diana was looking over the trays the catering company had brought, and breathed out in relief.

“Oh,” said Diana, as she looked up and saw her. “Did you run into Stephen in the hallway? I’m sorry.”

Julia shook her head. “Don’t be. We should be sorry. I’m here, grumbling about Edward – and this party? Is he annoyed about it?”

“Not any more than usual,” said Diana with an easy smile. “There’s no need to worry about that. And he won’t be here – I arranged for his uncle to ask him over. And since he’s one of the few people left who’ll still lend Stephen money from time to time, he won’t dare refuse the summons.”

Julia gave a nod, but she still felt upset by the exchange, and by her earlier thoughtlessness. Even if Edward hated her, which was thankfully hard to imagine, he’d never behave like that to any of her friends or guests in the house. Stephen would, it seemed.

Cinders, she thought again, his initial jab cutting home again. It came to close for comfort, and she might well be dressed up as Cinderella, which suddenly made her feel sick, as if perhaps everything was a joke she wasn’t in on and everybody else – Edward and Diana and Mr Harding, all of them – were all mocking her, setting her up like this. She knew it couldn’t be true, but she shivered nonetheless and felt her pleasurable anticipation for the party die away.

 

“You’re _late_ ,” said Julia, pouncing on Edward the moment he came through the front door. “You arrange for a party I didn’t ask for and then you can’t even be on time for it.”

He grinned at her from under a mask and hat. “I’m only five minutes late at the most. I’m sorry – I did mean to be early, but I was cornered by Fields, of all people, and then the traffic was –”

“Are you a highwayman?” asked Julia, more interested in his costume than his excuses. She stretched up, kissed him lightly, and removed both the mask and large hat as she did so. “There. Now I can see you again.”

Edward made a half-hearted grab at the hat, but Julia thrust it behind her back and stepped away from him. “Well, I was supposed to be a highwayman, I think, but I’m not much of one if you won’t give me that back.”

Julia took another step away from him and shook her head. “It’s my birthday and I want to see your face. Consider yourself reformed.”

“Anything for you,” he said, with another grin, amusement lighting his face, and he bent to kiss her hand.

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

Edward straightened himself, raising an eyebrow at her. “I didn’t think I was. What are you, anyway? Well, apart from more than usually charming, of course.”

Julia glanced down at herself, her smile fading away. “Diana said I was an eighteenth century lady, no one in particular – but it did come out of somebody’s collection of theatrical outfits and I think maybe I am Cinderella, and I’d rather _not_ be.”

“Julia,” he said, but then they both had to turn as Colonel and Mrs North came in through the door, Diana hurrying over to greet them. Having paused to say hello and admire their outfits, Edward took Julia by the arm and drew her into the cloakroom.

He moved in to face her, putting a hand to her cheek. “Diana wouldn’t do that to you. I wouldn’t have asked her to host this if I thought she was the sort of person who would.”

“I know,” said Julia, “but still – in some ways I am!”

Edward looked back at her, hesitating, as if he wasn’t sure what to say. He probably wasn’t.

Julia forced a smile, blinking back threatening tears, and caught hold of his wide sleeve. “You do see, don’t you? It doesn’t matter what’s happened since, when we married, I didn’t even know you at all, not really. I agreed for my own selfish reasons. And that’s why I don’t want anything else – not necklaces or parties.” She gave a short laugh. “I’m sorry. Not that they’re not nice, of course. But you have to know that I would be happy with the smallest token – with only us. I don’t want you to think otherwise. I can’t bear it if you do.” And he did, sometimes, she knew, even if he didn’t really believe it – he still wondered and worried.

“Yes, I think I’d already worked that one out,” said Edward. “You did shout at me for rather a while last week over it.” He put his fingers to her chin lightly. “Anyway, darling, you can’t possibly be Cinderella – or at least, something’s gone badly awry if you are, since you shouldn’t have wound up with a highwayman, not even an unconvincing one.”

Julia laughed, despite herself. “It might make for a more interesting story. I don’t suppose the highwayman had ever held up a coach that turned into a pumpkin before.”

He kissed her, pushing her back amongst the coats and scarves. Julia closed her eyes and didn’t point out that she should be out in the hall welcoming any remaining guests, slipping her arms around his neck and abandoning her fears.

“Oh, really,” said Diana, opening the cloakroom door. “If you must, you must, I suppose, but there’s no sense hiding in here when everyone’s arriving and I’m in and out every two minutes. There are quieter corners. I’ll direct you to one, if you like.”

Julia gave an embarrassed laugh and slipped her hand into Edward’s even as he tried to apologise. “You’ve only yourself to blame,” she told Diana. “You were the one who made him come as a highwayman. And now, look what happens!”

 

“I didn’t mean to surprise you, you know,” Edward said later, as they were dancing. “You enjoy most of these things we go to more than I do – I thought you’d like it, only first I had to ask Diana and wait for her to be sure she could –”

Julia smiled at him. “I know. And I _am_ enjoying it. Especially now.”

“Really?” said Edward. “It’s rather awkward – cramped –” As if to prove his point, they had to move over to avoid bumping into Colonel and Mrs North. “And this is a waltz, so I think we’re being anachronistic.”

She bit her lip, struggling not to laugh in the middle of Diana’s living room. Instead she leant her head against him for a moment. “I’ve got a zip at the back, you know,” she murmured. “And you keep telling me you’re not a very convincing highwayman. I don’t think we should worry too much, darling.” If only, she thought, they could stay right here in this moment forever; they’d be safe that way. Julia closed her eyes.

“When you want to go home, just say,” he said, causing her to lift her head again and look at him in mild surprise. “It’s fine. I’ve got everything sorted with Diana, I promise.”

She nodded. “Thank you. Although I’ll need to get changed first –”

“No,” said Edward and when she raised her eyebrows at him, he added, “I told you, I arranged it all with Diana. I’ll bring it back round with mine in the morning.”

Julia had to try and hide laughter again. “But I _could_ , after all. Unless you’d rather I didn’t?”

“There you have me,” said Edward and grinned.

Julia nodded, and tightened her hold on him. “Yes, I do, don’t I?”

 

On the short cab ride home, Julia had found herself caught somewhere between the unreal, charmed world of her birthday party and the encroaching dark reality around them. They were still wearing their costumes, which looked far more improbable now, and Julia was feeling a little misted at the edges with both champagne and happiness. When they climbed back out of the cab, Edward helping her out, both of them laughingly fighting with the wide skirt that hadn’t been designed for modern transport, there was a cold bite to the night air, and she shivered. 

“Julia?” said Edward as he followed her in through the front door.

She turned to watch as he locked the door and thought again, rather soberly, about Edward and Stephen and how lucky she’d been, when she had been so unwise.

“What now?” Edward asked, a wary crease deepening between his brows. “You _did_ enjoy the party, didn’t you?”

Julia nodded.

“But…?” he prompted, following her up the stairs. “If I ever do such a thing again, I will give you more warning, I promise.”

“Don’t be so silly,” Julia said. “I’ve told you a dozen times now that I enjoyed it very much. It’s only that I started thinking about what Stephen Foyle said again.”

Edward lightly kicked the bedroom door shut. “Well, don’t. If we’re going to go back over all of that, you know it was far more my fault than yours. I was the one who took advantage of your situation –”

“ _Why_?” she said, sitting down on the bed. “I’m glad you did, but it was mad, you know. Not like you at all.”

He laughed, pulling off the elaborate neck cloth and shrugging off the coat before he sat down beside her. “Julia, I don’t know.”

“It’s my birthday,” she said, putting out a hand to keep him back until he made the effort. “Try.” She was still the same selfish person who’d said yes to a proposal from a virtual stranger, all because she wanted someone in her life, someone who would love her, admire her – and Edward had seemed as if he already might. And yet, if anyone else she’d known had asked her, she wouldn’t have said yes. 

Edward shook his head. “I can’t.”

“It was love at first sight,” said Julia, determined to provoke him into trying to put it into words. “Or you only tell the worst news to girls you really like.”

He shook his head. “ _Julia._ And it wasn’t – I would never put it like that, you know that.”

“How did you put it to yourself?” she asked. “Not the excuses – not how useful it was for your career, or about the organisation, or even my situation.”

Edward pulled her in nearer to him. “I can’t make it more romantic, or explain it. I just wanted you in my life more than I’d ever wanted anything before or since, that’s all.”

“How dreadful,” said Julia, pausing to kiss him mid-sentence. “But, you know, I think that is romantic. Much more so than all the political and pragmatic reasons you gave me back then.”

He gave a laugh. “Yes, I’m sorry. Really, let’s not think about any of that, not now –”

“No, no,” she said. “I’m glad you said all that at the time, honestly. I’d never have thought of such good excuses to agree otherwise. And if I hadn’t,” she added, meeting his gaze in a moment of complete seriousness, “I don’t know where I’d be, but it wouldn’t be anywhere as nice as this. Which is so far from what we deserve, for what we did – that’s why it scares me sometimes.” Or one of the reasons, she thought, not yet able to shake off the fear of losing him, not yet.

Edward nodded. “I know,” he said. “So it’s better not to think of it like that.”

“Yes,” said Julia more cheerfully, winding her arms about his neck. “Quite right; let’s not.”


	41. Daydream (G, 1950: Edward Iveson/Julia Graves)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes Julia likes to pretend to herself that things could have been different.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> spring 1950, Edward Iveson/Julia Iveson. (Fluff, basically.)
> 
> Prompts: Chocolate #21 (luck) + Malt – Easter Egg ( _May I have the next dream with you, dear?/ Just a dream between us two/ Who'd think that someday, somewhere, in some way/ I'd meet a dream like you - May I Have The Next Dream With You_ , by Malcolm Roberts)

Julia sometimes liked to imagine that she and Edward had met another way; that there were no deaths in their past, no spying and secrets in their present. It could have been another way, she thought, if only they’d known to go looking for one another. At any rate, it was a nice enough daydream. The problem was that on one lazy Sunday afternoon, she tried to explain it to Edward while curled up next to him on the sofa.

He first gave her a wary look she was becoming much too familiar with, and said, “But we didn’t.”

“The point is that we _could_ have met in London,” said Julia. “If I hadn’t been determined to avoid my relatives – if I’d gone to stay with my uncle –”

“Is this the same uncle you keep telling me you would have to murder if you had to spend more than half an hour in his company?”

Julia frowned. “Yes, but that isn’t the point –”

“Well, I should think it might be – or am I supposed to be visiting you in prison?”

Julia tried glaring this time. “No, but think about it, Ned. Your family knew my family at least vaguely, and my father was acquainted with Lord Howe, and you know him too. There were connections we had in common, therefore we could have met. It’s a nice idea, that’s all.” 

“Very well,” said Edward, evidently deciding to make an effort to humour her. “I concede there’s a possibility, but it doesn’t alter the fact that, despite that, we didn’t meet. Besides, if we had, why should we ever have done anything more than exchange a few polite words at a dinner party, or whatever imaginary occasion you had in mind?”

Julia thought that since he seemed to have taken a liking to her during a brief, uncomfortable interview in an office, that was really rather hypocritical, and she could only see one thing he could mean by it. “Oh,” she said, poking him, “you think that _I_ wouldn’t have noticed you if I hadn’t been asked to talk to you.”

“Well, you must admit it seems unlikely.”

Julia saw no reason why she should admit any such thing. “There’s no telling what I might have done if we hadn’t – I mean, had we met in better circumstances.” She caught her breath a little; this was too frivolous a conversation to bring her brother’s death into it, which was, really, her entire point.

“Oh,” said Edward, turning his head towards her. “That’s what this is about?” 

Julia waved a hand vaguely. It was, and it was also about wanting everything to be more straight-forward, instead of the stupid way they’d managed to tangle everything between them. “A little,” she said. “But I just thought it was a nice thing to think about. I didn’t think you’d be completely objectionable and sit there picking my innocent little cloud castle to pieces. I suppose I should have known.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, giving her a rueful grin, and then kissing her on the cheek. “It’s merely – if it had been otherwise, I can only imagine things being worse. If you’d died out there – if I hadn’t gone back to speak to you that night – if I’d lost the nerve to go and see you again – if you’d turned me down –” He shrugged. “It seems to me enough of a miracle that it happened once.”

Julia pressed herself in closer to him. “Which is all very pretty,” she said, “but all it really boils down to is that you don’t have much faith in _me_.”

“Perhaps,” said Edward, “you should tell me again.”


	42. Fish Out of Water (PG, 1950: Edward Iveson/Julia Graves, Roderick Howe, Margaret Howe)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This wasn’t what Edward and Julia had in mind for their first wedding anniversary…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> July 1950; Edward Iveson/Julia Graves, Roderick Howe, Margaret Howe, Sylvia Howe, Jane Howe. 
> 
> Prompts: Sea Salt #3 (lake/pond) + Brownie + Malt – My Treat - Edward, somehow, gets thrown/pushed/falls into a pond/lake 
> 
> Notes/Warnings: brief fight, also involving a gun.

“I’m still sorry,” said Edward, as he had about sixty times since the invitation to stay at the Howe’s had arrived. “It’s no way to spend our anniversary.”

Julia bit back a smile. She didn’t think it made much of a first wedding anniversary, either, but she knew Edward would do his best to make it up to her, and in the meantime, she quite liked hearing him complain about how much rather he’d be alone with her. The idea had been to go to the West Country, because she’d said to him about going to school there and how she missed it sometimes – she didn’t remember telling him, but apparently she had. However, Crispin Morley, the Foreign Secretary had wangled this invitation for them and told Edward that he was on no account to refuse and Edward wasn’t in a position to argue with a senior cabinet minister. It was worse for him, though – Julia could cheat by spending as much time as possible with Lord Howe’s daughters, Jane and Sylvia, while Edward had to put up with Lord Howe and a whole collection of other people he seemed to dislike nearly equally.

She checked her hair in the mirror and then turned back to put her arms around him as he sat on the end of the bed, straightening his tie with a frown. He gave a smile and let go of the tie, catching at her hand instead and kissing it before releasing her.

“It’s good for your career,” she reminded him and then gave a small shrug. “Well, wasn’t that always part of the bargain?”

Edward turned. “Julia. Don’t.”

“I know,” she said, and sat beside him, hugging him briefly. “Sorry. But think – sometime soon, we _will_ go away – to Devon, or was it Somerset?”

“Goodness only knows now I’ve had to cancel it,” he said, his irritation surfacing again. “At this point, I don’t know where else we’ll find – it could be anywhere.”

She laughed, giving him a last squeeze before letting go. “Darling, I don’t mind where it is. Besides, is it our proper anniversary anyway? Surely that should be in November, when I finally sat you down and told you the truth?”

“Yes, but the weather’s better on the official date,” said Edward, a spark of amusement in his eyes. “I did try to say to Mr Morley, but he insisted this was more important, which I do think is –”

Julia got up. “Yes, yes. I know. But I’m having a perfectly nice time with the girls. I’m sorry you’re stuck with it, Ned, but we’re nearly halfway through. I’m sure you can make it.” She stopped, looking up at a knock at the door. “Oh, that must be Lady Howe. She said she wanted a word with me before we left.”

“I don’t know why he invited me anyway,” said Edward, half under his breath as Julia crossed over to answer the door. He stood up and pulled on his jacket. “He doesn’t seem to like me. He must have thought I was someone else and only realised the terrible truth when I arrived.” 

Opening the door proved Julia’s prediction to be correct, as Lady Howe was standing there. “Oh, Julia, dear,” she said. “I hope I’m not interrupting you?”

“Not at all. I was just going,” said Edward. “I promised to go for a walk with Mr Argyle and some of the others.” He reached them and stopped to give Julia a kiss on the cheek, taking her hand again as he did so, stopping there a little longer than was necessary, unwilling to move away. “See you at lunch time.”

Julia nodded, and watched him go, feeling a little stupidly wistful herself now, but made herself turn back to the waiting Lady Howe. “Oh, yes, of course,” she said, with half an eye on Edward as he made his way down the corridor.

Lady Howe gave a small laugh. “He seems quite besotted with you still, my dear.”

Julia was hard put not to glare in return. Lady Howe meant well, she was sure, but it was too close to the sort of gossip that sometimes went round about the two of them, and it made her angry. It was a stupid comment anyway, she thought. Whatever was one supposed to say in return? To agree would sound egotistical; to disagree would be vaguely insulting to one or both of them. It wasn’t really that such talk mattered, but she always worried that if Edward heard it, it might set him wondering again about Julia’s feelings. He knew the truth by now, but their relationship had started out so oddly and the shadows still lurked.

“Now,” said Lady Howe, evidently not worrying about an answer, “about the girls – you are sure you want to take them? I won’t have them plaguing you.”

Julia laughed more easily. “Of course. I like them both very much.”

“If you could see how difficult Jane can be, you wouldn’t say so,” said Lady Howe with a distracted sigh. “However, yes, now – do feel free to take them in somewhere for tea, but please, tea only for Sylvia.”

Julia smiled again. “Of course. I promise faithfully.”

 

The walk became delayed – John Graswell hadn’t come down, and Vic Lovell was having a long discussion with Mr Fields who wasn’t going with them and Edward, who was always punctual, was left hanging around and wound up playing billiards with Miles Argyle, who was hopeless at it and spent most of the time talking about the expansion of one of his factories with what seemed to be an interminable amount of detail.

It wasn’t calculated to put him in a better frame of mind, especially when he could hardly help thinking that he should have been somewhere in the middle of Exmoor with Julia instead. The only comfort he had, as they finally set off on their walk, was that the weather was overcast, so they weren’t wasting any sunshine.

Mr Morley might be insistent that a weekend like this was essential for making the right kinds of contacts, but Edward still found this side of things to be distasteful. It was all very well on committees and other such things – meeting others who shared interests in similar issues, that was natural – but being here, courting businessmen, or senior civil servants, or speaking to Mr Fields, who was likely to become the next Conservative leader, was a different matter. It was all very easy and social on the surface, but underneath there was a pressure, if faint as yet, that something was required in return for any friendly overtures and Edward mistrusted the situation.

He had known the Howe family at least slightly for years. Roderick Howe wasn’t a hereditary peer: he owned several newspapers and had made a name and several fortunes for himself over the years in addition to a title. He was a distant connection on Edward’s father’s side and Edward had been invited to a few dinner parties hosted by the Howes as a result, but that was as far as it went. He disliked everything he knew about the man. What was rather disconcerting was that Edward was now gaining the distinct impression that Lord Howe disliked _him_ just as much, and that was baffling. It wasn’t as if he’d even spoken to him for more than a sentence or two at a time before now or done anything to get himself noticed. He could only think that perhaps Crispin Morley had pressed too hard for this invitation and irritated Lord Howe in the process.

Edward was relieved once everyone else finally turned up and they at last got the chance to set off on their walk through the grounds. He stayed with Argyle, who might be dull but at least he seemed to be simply there for the pleasures of the weekend and nothing more. It was a grey day and there was an unseasonal chill to the wind, but it was immediately better to be outside than trapped in the house.

Walking along, however, something caught his eye: a lone figure off to the side standing by the ornamental lake. Edward turned slightly, pausing on the grass as he watched, before he sped up his pace to rejoin Argyle. “Isn’t that Benson? What is he doing?”

“Didn’t you hear the chap going on about it yesterday?” said Argyle, with a nod back in the direction of the other man. “He’s bird-watching again. Thinks he may be in with a chance to spot the lesser-speckled long-beaked whatsit. He’s always like that.”

Edward stared back across the grounds at Benson. “Is he?” he murmured, and then shook himself. “I think I’ll go and see if he’s had any luck.”

“He won’t thank you,” said Argyle. “Not if you scare the birds.”

Edward nodded, but nevertheless moved cautiously and quietly back towards Benson across the grounds, making full use of the trees to keep out of sight until that was no longer possible and he had to walk over the lawn. Bird-watching was fair enough, but Benson seemed to be directing his glasses back at the house more than he was out at the grounds. What had particularly struck Edward at the moment he’d first happened to glance across was that he seemed to be measuring something out, setting something out in his head – lining up a shot, perhaps. Having been in the security service, old instincts died hard. He was most likely wrong, but there were too many important people here to ignore any threat, however absurd. Lord Howe and Richard Fields were still in the house, for a start, and they were the kind of men who had more enemies than most. 

As far as Edward could see, however, Benson didn’t have any weapon, but it didn’t seem like the behaviour of a birdwatcher. Someone there to do some work on the building, possibly, but not someone after the lesser-speckled, long-beaked whatsit. Edward edged nearer, making his way around the small ornamental lake, still unnoticed, although he knew that wouldn’t be true for much longer. Benson crouched down by a stone urn at the edge of the lake, moving aside the overhanging fronds of the plane, and pulling something hidden out from under it.

Edward waited only long enough to see that it could easily be a rifle, and gave a shout, causing Benson to start and stand up, even as Edward launched himself at the man, sending them both over into the water. Despite bracing himself for it, the cold water was a shock, but Edward recovered sooner than the unprepared Benson and hit out at him, pushing him back down as he tried to stand. Benson flailed about wildly, grabbing at Edward, pulling them both under again. Edward kicked out at him, as Benson managed a blow to his shoulder, but they were both struggling under the weight of their clothes. Edward hung on grimly to Benson until, suddenly, someone caught hold of him from above, hauling him up onto his feet in the water as someone else pulled Benson away from him. Edward sagged with relief back against the small stone balustrade; a sodden coughing mess. 

His rescuer was one of the security people engaged at the house, Edward registered as the man helped him out of the water. “Sir,” the man said, keeping his hand firmly on Edward’s arm. “Now, what was that about?”

Edward fought to regain control of himself, shivering too much to speak. Argyle was standing to the side, hanging onto Benson, while another member of the outdoor staff was heading towards them at a run. 

“Under the thing,” Edward said, his breath uneven. “The p-plant – a rifle.” And if it wasn’t, he thought, he and Julia were unquestionably going home in disgrace.

The security man – Roberts, Edward thought he was called – kept hold of Edward and as the other man joined them, he nodded to him to take a look at the long, wrapped object half visible under the urn. The newcomer did as he was told, and then gave a cut off sound of surprise as he saw what most definitely was a rifle. Roberts released Edward and moved over to join his fellow.

Argyle, however, couldn’t have been keeping a proper grip on Benson, as he lurched forward, despite being in a similar state to Edward, grabbing furiously at Edward and pushing him down. Edward hadn’t been expecting a further attack and fell back, striking his head against the balustrade, hard enough to see stars for a moment. By the time the world had swum back into focus, Argyle and the other man had pulled Benson away again.

Roberts moved over to help Edward sit. “I’ll be damned,” he said. “He’s been here enough times – we’ve never had any trouble before.” His face darkened with momentary wariness. “How did you know?”

“I didn’t,” said Edward, with an effort, leaning against the balustrade for support and wanting only to get into dry clothes – and he seemed to have unnamed things down his back and pondweed in his pocket. “He just – looked suspicious and I – thought it wasn’t w-worth taking the risk that I was wrong.” He had to grit his teeth to keep them from chattering, wishing that the weather had been warmer after all. He could have used a bit of sunshine now.

Roberts gave a nod, glancing back briefly at Benson, but he’d evidently witnessed enough to know that it was Benson who’d been fiddling about with something besides the urn before the fight, not Edward. “Come on, sir,” he said, to Edward’s great relief. “We’d better get you up to the house and out of these wet things.”

 

Julia arrived back with Jane and Sylvia, only to have an unprecedented wait at the door, before it was finally pulled open by a flustered, young maid. “Sorry,” she said. “There’s been all sorts going on and Lady Howe wanted Mr Hall.”

“All sorts?” said Julia, ushering the two girls back inside. “Have we missed all the excitement?”

The maid shut the door, needing no encouragement to talk about it. “We’ve never had anything like it – one of the guests shot someone!”

“Really?” said Julia, with a quick, worried glance at Jane and Sylvia. “By accident, I trust?”

Jane paused in the middle of pulling off her coat. “Who shot who? Come on, Marjorie, you have to tell us now. Not Father?”

Marjorie gave Julia a rueful look, realising her error. “Oh,” she said, reluctantly losing some of the luridness of the tale. “No, of course not your father, but Annie was watching from the kitchen window and she said that Mr Benson had a gun and he –” She stopped, abruptly, looking at Julia. “Oh,” she said again, looking even guiltier. “Oh, miss. I don’t think anyone was _hurt_ , not really.”

Julia had assumed from the start that it was chiefly exaggeration, but as she caught the implication of Marjorie’s words, she lost her amusement. She felt everything else turn unreal for a moment and tried to lean back against the wall to cover her weakness, but it wasn’t as near as she thought and Jane had to catch at her, steadying her, as Marjorie hastened to her other side.

“I’m all right,” she tried to say, still feeling half sick and angry at herself. “Oh,” she added, and put her hand to her head.

Marjorie sat her down on the stairs. “There, miss. Nobody’s hurt, I’m sure Annie was letting herself get carried away again.”

“My goodness,” said Lady Howe, coming down the stairs. “Whatever is going on?” Before anyone could answer, her eye fell on Julia, and she stopped as she reached her. “Julia, my dear. Is something wrong? You’re just in time, you know. Edward is bound to need a hand. You’d better hurry up and join him.”

Julia pulled herself up by the banister, still feeling ridiculously shaken. “No, no, nothing’s wrong. He’s upstairs?”

“Yes,” said Lady Howe. “I really don’t know what’s been going on, but it seems that you probably shouldn’t leave him unsupervised!”

 

Julia hastened up the stairs and along the corridor, into their room, still with only the vaguest idea of what had actually happened, but she was brought up short by the sight of Edward, dripping wet, still fully dressed barring his jacket and shoes.

“What on earth –?” she said, surveying him in shock. He didn’t seem hurt – certainly he hadn’t been shot at all – but he was completely drenched, his fringe plastered down on his forehead, an old towel around his shoulders and his shirt and trousers sodden. He was trying not to shiver, she was hardly surprised to see. “Ned!”

He held up his hands. “Yes, I know, I know. I’ll explain – just let me get out of these things. Urgh,” he added, struggling with his shirt. “You’ve n-no idea how awkward wet things are until s-something like this happens.”

“Something like what?” asked Julia, stepping in to undo the buttons for him. She wrinkled her nose. “Edward, you _stink_! What is it?”

“Pond water, I’m afraid,” he said. “I d-don’t think the ornamental lake is technically a lake as such. The water’s pretty s-stagnant. I, er, jumped in it.”

Julia helped him off with the shirt. “Would it be too much to ask why? I mean, unless you’ve been having wildly different weather than we were two miles down the round, it’s not been at all hot. Even so, this is a bit wholesale.”

“There were reasons,” said Edward, and then stopped to put his hand to his head. “Ouch.” 

He seemed about to sit down and Julia grabbed at him with a somewhat unnecessary shriek. “Ned, not on the bed! On the floor – no, no, the carpet – let me fetch a towel first –”

“Oh, God,” said Edward, and risked leaning back and leaving a damp patch on the wallpaper instead. As she handed him a towel, taking his shirt and trousers in exchange, he added, “You know, in my head you wanting me to take my clothes off on our anniversary was a lot more romantic.”

Julia wasn’t ready to relent yet. She raised an eyebrow. “Yes, well, which of us has been throwing themselves into people’s fish ponds?”

Now that he had stripped down to his underwear, she pushed him towards the bathroom with stern instructions not to come back until he was human again and no longer part frog at which he laughed, and then winced again, before disappearing to wash. 

Julia looked down at his clothes in her hands and wrinkled her nose, wondering where to put them. However, with perfect timing, there was a knock at the door and she found another of the maids there. She’d brought a tea tray, and having handed it over to Julia, offered to take the offending articles and put them in the laundry.

“Thank you,” said Julia, glad to make the exchange.

“Oh, and Lady Howe says to tell you that she sent for the doctor just in case,” she added. “Do you need anything else?”

Julia smiled and shook her head. “I think that’s covered everything. You’ve all been very kind.” She had to bite back an urge to ask what exactly had happened; the maid would probably think it odd.

She put down the tray on the dressing table and sat on the bed, finding that she still felt a little sick herself. Fainting was the sort of luxury only a Victorian heroine could afford, she thought, cross at her silliness. Nevertheless, she lay down for a moment, finding herself unsteady and close to pointless tears. She’d begun to feel _safe_ , she thought; that was what it was, and this was an all too pointed reminder that nothing ever was.

“Julia,” said Edward, suddenly standing by the bed in his dressing gown, and she sat up, further annoyed with herself. “It’s all right, you know.”

She glared at him. “Oh, is it? What did you think you were _doing_?”

“I have a perfectly good explanation,” he said. “You see – oh, wait, is that tea?”

Julia knelt up on the bed and punched him on the arm, half-heartedly, but he stepped back in surprise nonetheless. “No, it’s tomato soup in a teapot! What do you think?”

“Anything hot sounds good to me,” said Edward, giving her a wary glance, taking the cup. “And it’s not as if I did this on purpose, you know. Well, technically, I suppose I did –”

Julia had to laugh, sitting down on the bed again, and patting the mattress for him to sit beside her. “Well, of course you did. What else does one do when staying with people one doesn’t like?” She watched him as he sat beside her. “People were saying downstairs that someone had a gun. Was that true – was that why?”

“Well – yes. More or less,” he said. “I was the only one around and Benson looked as if he was planning to take a shot at someone given the chance, so I made sure he didn’t get it. I wasn’t in any danger.”

She stared ahead, finding it hard to breathe again. “If he had a gun, how could it not be dangerous? You thought that was the way to celebrate our anniversary? Trying to get shot?”

“I could hardly walk on by once I’d realised –”

She only just remembered the tea in time to keep from hitting him again, clenching her fists. “They’ve got security people here! They’ve got maids – tea – everything you want! They didn’t need you to go round being ridiculously heroic and scaring the fish!”

Edward put down the tea and faced her. He put one hand up to his head again, his expression shadowed by weariness. “Julia. He didn’t have the gun to hand – I pushed him in the pond to stop him getting the chance, and by that time the security people had arrived. That was all.” Then, unable to keep a certain amount of petty annoyance down, he added, “And if you think I’m so ridiculous, I don’t know why you should be worried about it!”

“It’s a funny sort of weakness of mine,” said Julia, taking his hand, and leaning against him. “I don’t like to think of anything like that happening to you.”

He gave a tired smile and leant against her in response before turning slightly to kiss her cheek. He winced again as he did so.

“Ned, darling,” she said. “Is something wrong?”

He laughed slightly, and rubbed his head. “Oh, nothing much, but I gave my head quite a whack down there and it rather aches now.”

“Hardly surprising, then,” she said, and kissed him. “Poor you! But Lady Howe says she’s sent for the doctor, so he can make sure it’s nothing worse. In the meantime, you’ve already used up your share of the excitement for one day – why don’t you get into your pyjamas and lie down until he gets here? No one will mind, if you’re the hero of the hour.”

“I wonder,” said Edward, picking his tea cup up again, as Julia fished out his night things from under the covers and threw them over to him. “Am I?”

 

The doctor turned up about forty minutes later and, after giving Edward a brief examination, agreed that he was unlikely to be suffering from a concussion, but said that he should keep quiet for the next couple of days, just to be on the safe side.

“Hmm,” said Julia. “Then I think I should take him home. Would that be all right, do you think?”

The doctor hesitated. “Well –”

“It isn’t very far – north London.”

He smiled. “Oh, well, I suppose in that case, I don’t see why not.”

“There,” said Julia, turning back to Edward once she’d closed the door behind the doctor. “The doctor says you _must_ go home, after all. You can have your wish.”

Edward laughed, even though it made him wince again. “Honestly, Julia.”

“Darling,” Julia said, “if your heroics haven’t already impressed all the VIPs, then I don’t suppose anything else will, no matter how long we stay.”

Edward leaned forward, catching at her hand and pulling her in to sit beside him on the bed, and then he kissed her.

“Lie down,” she said, putting her hand to his cheek. “I’ll go and sort everything out with Lady Howe, and then pack. You stay there and don’t do anything silly.”

Edward slumped back against the pillows. “Julia! It’s not as if I make a habit of this kind of thing.”

“No,” said Julia, with a quick, impish smile, “so I need to make the most of this opportunity, don’t I?”

 

Someone knocked briefly and then pushed the door open. Edward looked up, pulling himself back into a sitting position. He’d been expecting Julia, but something in the movements didn’t sound right; they’d been too brisk, too formal – certainly not like Julia. “Lord Howe,” he said, in surprise, as he realised who it was.

“No, no, don’t disturb yourself, Iveson,” said Lord Howe, walking across to the window and looking out over the grounds, his hands behind his back. He paused there for a few moments before turning back. “If I wasn’t altogether gracious to you downstairs, you must forgive me. I thought at first it was some sort of practical joke.”

Edward had noticed his coldness, even in the middle of trying to make it back to the house in sodden clothing. He had wondered why; even asking himself if there had been some more sinister reason, but he supposed that this made sense. It must have seemed improbable to Lord Howe when someone had tried to explain. He merely gave a smile. “Well, you’re not obliged to be grateful, I suppose.”

“No,” said Lord Howe. “And, of course, as things stand – well, your father, you know, naturally I thought –” He stopped and gave a contained shrug. 

Edward was confused, but keen to bring an awkward conversation to a close. “I suppose it must have seemed rather odd – but I would certainly never drag another guest, or anyone, into the water for a joke.”

“And your wife,” Lord Howe continued, as if he hadn’t taken note of anything Edward had said. “She’s Harold Graves’s daughter, isn’t she? I hadn’t realised until now. So, you see – it was inevitable that I should be wary.”

Edward tried not to let his bafflement show. “I wouldn’t worry over it, sir. I was too busy concentrating on getting dry again to take offence, I assure you.”

Lord Howe gave a brief nod. “Yes. We don’t know yet what Benson was doing, but Special Branch will be onto it, I’m sure. Roberts has his own ideas, though, but nothing to confirm them yet – he imagines the man was going to try and take a shot at me, not Fields.” He looked directly across at Edward for the first time, a gleam of distant amusement in his eyes. “Sometimes life is bloody ironic, wouldn’t you say, Iveson?”

“I can’t argue with that,” said Edward. _Particularly not right now_ , he added to himself, still bemused by what seemed to be some sort of family feud no one had bothered to inform him about. He hadn’t been very old when his father had died, but from what he did remember, he was the last person to have gone around holding violent grudges against anyone.

Lord Howe didn’t reply; Julia returned at that moment, hurrying in, and they both stopped, looking at her.

“Oh, Lord Howe,” said Julia, halting just inside the door in surprise. “I’ve just been speaking to your wife – the doctor seemed to think it would be better to take Edward home and she’s been kind enough to say she’ll provide a car, so I should thank you both. I’ve told her we’ll be going as soon as possible after lunch.”

Lord Howe gave a nod. “Yes,” he said. “Well, yes – good. I’ll leave you to it, then.”

Julia shut the door behind him and then crossed to Edward. “Well, that seemed rather awkward.”

“Downright peculiar,” said Edward, putting a hand to his head again. “Julia, did your father know Lord Howe?”

She sat down on the bed. “I don’t know. I think so. I think he didn’t care for him much – but that was just business. Why?”

“He said something,” said Edward. “Almost as if he’d suspected us of getting together purposely to plot revenge against him.”

Julia laughed. “How bad is your head? Should I get the doctor to come back and give a second opinion?”

“You didn’t hear him,” Edward said. “I knew he was a connection of father’s – and nobody in the family has ever liked him much, but that’s all. I don’t know what must have gone on for him to assume I’d try to spoil his country weekend just because he didn’t much like your father or mine.”

She gave a rueful smile. “And we can’t ask them, can we? It seems unfair that we can’t produce one surviving parent between us.”

“I suppose I could try Aunt Daisy,” said Edward. “I suspect it’s not the sort of thing she’d have taken much interest in, though.”

Julia watched him. “Whatever did he say?”

“Nothing much,” Edward said. “It was only – well – so damned strange, I suppose. Like something out of a novel.”

Julia leant over and kissed him. “History, then; that’s all. We’ve got enough to worry about – I need to pack, and you need to be more careful about what you do on political weekends away – and we still have to find a better way to celebrate our anniversary. Because, as you said, this really isn’t ideal, is it?”

“I love you,” said Edward, taking himself by surprise more than her, and had to laugh.

She kissed him again, ruffling his hair before moving away. “So you should,” she said with a grin, as she set about packing.


	43. Means of Escape (1950: Edward Iveson, Amyas Harding)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harding has a tale to tell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> July 1950; Edward Iveson, Amyas Harding.
> 
> Prompts: Flavour of the Day (30/11/15) – bibliotaph. Flash fic.

“I hear you took drastic measures to escape from the Howes’ the other day,” said Amyas Harding, after he’d finished talking Edward through a scheme to encourage growth of small businesses. “Was it really all that bad?”

Edward shook his head, nursing his glass – on this occasion, as hopefully he would on all others after the last, he was being careful when spending an evening with Harding. “If you’ve heard about it, I should imagine you don’t need me to tell you.”

“True,” said Harding with a brief smile. “Of course, I sympathise – did I ever tell you about the time I had to go and stay with Sir Reginald Askew, years ago? He was in the middle of finishing some report or another when he was taken ill. The thing needed to be done, so they sent me down to see him. He never invited anyone there – only saw people at his town flat – people used to speculate that he must have treasure or bodies buried in the garden or at least some terrible secret to hide, so you can imagine my trepidation.”

Edward silently translated that to mean that Harding had been delighted to indulge his curiosity, at least at first.

“Well, you’ve never seen anything like it. It was a mausoleum, not a house. Everything slowly decaying, like him. There were no staff left – and this was before the war – just someone who came in to clean the open rooms and cook for him and some sort of gardener-cum-handyman. The food was unspeakable and I thought the bed in the guestroom they unearthed for me was going to fall apart every time I laid down on it. However, I couldn’t leave until Sir Reginald was done with the report, and he wouldn’t stop fussing over the wording of the last few paragraphs until I was completely distracted. And then I hit upon a solution. You see, Iveson, he was hoarding something down there – not treasure, not bodies in the grounds, but books.”

“Books?” said Edward, straightening himself; he’d been leaning his head against the side of the chair and in danger of drifting off. It had been a warm day, they’d finished the business of the evening some time ago, and it wasn’t as if Harding required anything more of his audience than that there be one.

Harding laughed. “Yes. All the closed up part of the old ancestral home – it was basically a huge, ill-kept library from what I gathered. Books, all carefully shelved away, catalogued by him, and mostly unread and untouched, long since buried under dust.”

“He showed you?”

Harding shook his head. “No, as I said, he kept to a mere handful of rooms and I was expected to do so, too. Everything else was off-limits. He sat on all those books like an elderly, erudite dragon. He let me have a peek into one of the rooms briefly, but that was nearly more than the poor old chap could stand.”

“You said it was only the two of you,” said Edward, putting his hand up to his mouth as he gave a faint smile. “I think I’d have had to go back down in the night and take a look.”

Harding eyed him with interest. “Well, rather you than me. He didn’t have electricity installed across the building and I draw the line at creeping about somebody’s rotting old mansion by candlelight. Besides, I’m quite sure I know what I’d have found, besides a lot of mouldering paper.”

“Oh?”

“Mice!” Harding then considered for a further moment. “Or possibly a ghost. Anyway, I finally came up with the idea of ringing a friend to send Sir Reginald a wire alerting him to a private book sale on the following day. It worked like magic – suddenly those last, trying paragraphs were signed off and I was set free. Mind, I probably shouldn’t have. Poor chap was too frail to be trotting off in search of non-existent book sales. If only I’d thought to try your methods – but, there, I’m not sure the fellow had a lake or even a pond.”

Edward glanced away, never entirely liking to be laughed at by Harding. “Well, talking of making our respective escapes – it’s time I should be on my way.”

“Yes,” said Harding, getting to his feet, as did Edward. “Indeed. Best send you back to that charming wife of yours before you run away again – or try to break open my glass-fronted bookcase, or leap into the fishpond. And, you know, Iveson, you look so harmless!”


	44. Misdirection (G, 1950: Edward Iveson/Julia Graves)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“That’s the third time we’ve passed that house now. People are beginning to stare.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aug 1950; Edward Iveson/Julia Graves. Very slight.
> 
> Prompts: Cookies & Cream 30 (climb) + Peach 16 (pay it forward) + Malt (Edward & Julia get hopelessly lost in the countryside, from roisin_farrell) + Gummy Bunnies (also for origfic_bingo square “holiday.”)

“Will you stop the car?” said Julia. “That’s the third time we’ve passed that house now. People are beginning to stare.”

Edward drove on for another minute, until he found a place where the country lane widened enough for him to pull in by the gate to a field, only just avoiding the nearby ditch in his annoyance. “I was following the signs – are you sure?”

Julia merely looked at him, only reached for the map and pulling it out onto her lap. “I told you I would map read for you, but you refused.”

“I checked the last leg of the route at our last stop,” said Edward. “It was perfectly straightforward.” He ran a hand through his hair and then held out the other hand for the map. “May I see?”

Julia raised an eyebrow. “Oh, you think I can’t?” She stared him out until he dropped his hand and leant back against the car seat with a small sound of irritation. “Now, we were heading for Nether Alton, yes?”

“Yes,” said Edward, turning again and leaning forward to point on the map. “Here’s where we came off – and you see, we just had to turn off again here, and I don’t understand it.”

“I think,” Julia said, “that maybe it’s not the map, darling. Could someone have knocked one of the sign-posts and that’s why we’re heading around in circles?”

Edward closed his eyes momentarily. “I think you’re right. Oh, _blast_. This isn’t getting us off to a good start, is it? This was supposed to be better than our official anniversary – and a proper time away, unlike the honeymoon –”

“Yes, well,” said Julia, “next time we pass the house with that odd chimney, we shall just have to stop and ask for directions. And,” she added, all in one breath, “it’s pointless to make such a fuss about one holiday. I liked the honeymoon, and the anniversary was _fine_ after you stopped leaping into other people’s ponds –”

Edward began folding up the map, managing not to rise to that one. “And I don’t see why you make such a damned fuss if I try to do something special, even now. It’s not a crime, or it shouldn’t be.”

“I wasn’t,” said Julia. “I don’t.” She had the grace to colour at her blatant lie, but she wouldn’t look at him.

Edward gave a short laugh, and got out of the car for a bit of air. An old disagreement, a long car ride on a hot day, topped off with getting lost just as they were nearing their destination was not a recipe to improve anyone’s temper. He knew what Julia had lost over the past few years, and he should be more patient, even if her panic was ridiculous. If he went one inch over the line of what she considered to be a reasonable present, or merely wanted to surprise her with something nice, there it was again. He leant on the roof and then jumped back in alarm as the car gave a groan and made an alarming clanking noise before something fell off under it.

After a moment of silence, Julia climbed out of the car. She didn’t say anything; merely looked at him.

“I think,” said Edward, beginning to give a small, sheepish smile, “that I may need to take a walk. Do you want to stay here with the car or come with me?”

Julia glanced around her at the narrow lane and the surrounding fields and hedges. “What do you think? Just let me get at my case for a minute – I need a more sensible pair of shoes.”

Edward obliged and while she changed her shoes, he said, “You don’t have to, you know. I don’t suppose the nearest garage is very near.”

“Darling,” said Julia. “You’ve forgotten that you’re almost a VIP. What if someone recognises you? You might need a bodyguard and I’m all you’ve got. I can’t possibly let you wander around the countryside alone.”

He closed the map again and shot her a dark look. “Honestly, Julia, there’s no need to be ridiculous.”

“No, but I frequently am regardless,” she returned with a grin.

Edward helped her over the stile into the nearby field and along the uphill footpath there. “You’re happier now everything’s going wrong, aren’t you? God, you’re damned impossible sometimes!”

“I’ve told you a hundred times not to make a fuss,” said Julia, struggling to keep up with him. “And yet you will do it.”

Edward realised he had sped up in his annoyance and slowed down a little. “It’s not a fuss. I want to celebrate our anniversary; I want to make up for our terrible beginning, and I want us to have nice time away together. There’s nothing unreasonable about any of that!”

“All right,” said Julia, and laughed. “It’s only my guilt, that’s all. I’ve explained before, but I _take_ so much, sometimes I feel so awful if you try and give me more yet.”

Edward had to laugh. “Julia. I understand at least some of that, but –”

“Don’t tell me none of that matters if I love you. That might be true, but there are plenty of people out there who can do the accounting and in cold, hard terms, I’ve gained a lot.”

Edward pulled up abruptly and rounded on her, making her jump. “Oh, have you? I suppose if money is the only valuation you accept, perhaps. But shall we stop and consider what it would have cost me to have Mrs Crosbie in every day, or get a housekeeper, and then someone to do the decorating? The house needed it, after all. And I’d still have no one to talk to at nights. Perhaps I was the one who got a bargain.”

Julia fell silent. “I’m not sure,” she said eventually, “that I like you putting it like that.”

“Well, then, let’s not,” said Edward. “Besides, all this nonsense about taking all the time – it’s rot.”

Julia tensed beside him. “People do talk, Edward. Stupid people, but they do. They think I must have married you for your money –”

“Some of them may,” said Edward, unable to keep back amusement, “but others believe that I married _you_ for your money. Equally stupid people, of course.”

That stopped her. She stared back at him. “But – how could they?”

“Well, you and I know that you loathe your uncle, but other people don’t – and he happens to be a partner in a well-established London bank,” said Edward. “And since the most obvious explanation for a hasty marriage didn’t materialise, people have moved onto wondering if I, as a new MP, wanted a bit of extra financial backing and found it in you.”

“Really?”

He nodded and held out his hand to her. “Come on.”

As they walked on up the footpath, climbing the hill, Julia glanced at him several times. “Yes, but it isn’t really the money, is it? I wanted an admirer and that’s pretty awful, you have to admit.”

“No, I don’t think I do,” said Edward. He faced her. “Julia, stop this. You’ve given me so much that I can never repay you, not with a hundred holidays, or all the gifts in the world. I can’t imagine what I would do without you, and I don’t want to try. And I didn’t even give you a proper honeymoon, and I _am_ going to at least manage the anniversary, damn it, and you will just have to put up with it!”

Julia laughed and then put her arms around him, kissing him and holding on. “I’m not going anywhere, Edward, I promise.”

He wanted to protest that he hadn’t meant that, but she was too close, and anyway, he wasn’t entirely sure she was wrong: if she feared tempting the gods to retribution for mortal happiness, then perhaps he wanted to try and make the most of the time they had, before she disappeared somewhere. He couldn’t help but feel that she must leave him one day.

“Neither of us are going anywhere, that’s the problem,” he said, pulling away and nodding at the countryside around them. “We do need to at least find a farm house and settle the question of exactly where we are, or we’ll be wandering around here forever.”

Julia slipped her hand into his again. “We’re somewhere on the Quantocks – together. Won’t that do for now?”

“We’ll eventually get somewhere, I suppose,” he said, a smile beginning to grow. “Perhaps it is enough for the moment.”

She squeezed his hand. “You say that, and it’s very sweet of you, but I know full well it won’t take more than half an hour, if that, before you start fretting about whether or not the car is all right and if we’ll ever get to the hotel before it’s too late, so we had better find someone to ask, after all.”

“Nonsense,” said Edward, even though he knew she was right.


	45. Out With the Old (G, 1950: Edward Iveson/Julia Graves)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward and Julia see in the New Year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New Year 1950/1951; Edward Iveson/Julia Graves
> 
> Prompts: Prune 3 (to every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction)
> 
> Notes: My final piece for the comm, to finish a flavour & draw a line under things.

“Excuse me,” Edward said, cutting into the dance to retrieve Julia from Amyas Harding.

Julia let him steal him from her partner, giving Mr Harding an apologetic shrug as she went, before raising an eyebrow at Edward. She was only amused, but it wasn’t like him.

“It’s almost twelve,” he said.

Julia smiled. “And you were afraid I would turn into a pumpkin and the shame of it would ruin your career, I _do_ understand, darling.”

Edward refused to be baited into explaining the obvious, merely leading her away while keeping one eye on the clock. The fact that he was a perfectly good dancer, possibly better than she was, always came as a surprise to Julia, although it shouldn’t any longer. In most other circumstances, he positively radiated awkwardness – how much of it was a front and how much was not was difficult to judge. They had been married for over a year now – a year and a month in proper and secret terms, a year and a half by the official date, and still not much over that since they’d met again in Paris. Julia could have danced with him with her eyes closed, used to moving together like this – although she thought that that would be asking for trouble in a crowded space, so she didn’t.

The dance came to its end, but Edward kept hold of her hand. “This way,” he murmured in her ear, guiding her along through the crush and out into the night. “Before anyone starts up _Auld Lang Syne_ ,” he added when she looked at him.

Julia laughed, although she caught her breath at the chill in the air as they stood there. Edward pulled her in against him, trying to keep the edges of his jacket around her as she shivered. “It won’t be long,” he said in her ear again. “We should be able to hear Big Ben from here.”

“It had better not be,” she said, pressing herself into him, feeling the buttons of his shirt on her back. She was wearing a long sleeveless dress of blue satin, which had been perfectly adequate inside, but not out here. It wasn’t all that icy, perhaps, but the wind was strong and bitter and it would probably start raining again soon. It had been a wet autumn and winter so far.

Edward kissed her hair. “Any moment now, I promise.” 

He was right: Big Ben started chiming out the hour even as he said it, prompting bells and fireworks elsewhere. Edward and Julia were standing in the alley by the side entrance to the hotel’s ballroom and the view was nothing special, but Julia found herself blinking back tears nevertheless. Sometimes the weight of history seemed too much to bear when she stopped to think of London. It was her home, after all, in a way that was not as true for Edward, and it had seen so much; these church bells had rung in so many new years, now long gone, even if Big Ben was a child by their standards.

“Oranges and lemons say the bells of St Clements,” she half-sung under her breath, shivering again. “When will you pay me? say the bells of Old Bailey.”

Edward put his hand to her shoulder, kissing her again, on the cheek this time. “Julia?”

“Nothing, nothing,” she said. It was a rather sinister nursery rhyme with which to welcome in the New Year, one that ended with losing your head, even if it started with oranges and lemons and the sound of bells. “Happy New Year, darling!”

“And to you,” he said.

Julia turned slightly in his hold. “And now can we get back inside?”

“Yes, of course,” he said, leading her back towards the door, as she hitched up her skirt to be sure of avoiding the puddles. “I’m sorry – I just thought it would be nicer.”

Julia reached for his hand and squeezed it. “Yes, and it was. But next time you want to escape _Auld Lang Syne_ , make sure you fetch my coat first!”

“It wasn’t really that,” he said, holding open the door for and pulling it shut behind them as they rejoined the party, which hadn’t quite finished the dreaded chorus yet. “Although, honestly, I don’t even know if there’s anybody here who’s actually Scottish, so why everybody has to –”

Julia poked him. “You grouch.”

They were also not too late for a waiter to immediately pass them a glass of champagne each, with which to toast the New Year. Julia drank hers a little too quickly, keeping her eyes fixed on Edward, paying little regard to random people wishing either or both of them a happy New Year. She waited till she’d caught his gaze again, as he turned aside to speak to Mr Harding, and then put down her glass.

“You want to go home?” Edward said.

Julia smiled. “You’re learning to read my mind.”

“Hardly,” said Edward, giving a sudden, undignified grin in return. “You’ve never been what you would call subtle.”

“Let’s get our coats,” Julia said, still smiling, as she put her hand through his arm and let him plough his way through the crush. They weren’t the only ones who’d only been waiting for midnight to leave.

They managed to retrieve their coats and then stopped outside while Julia changed her shoes for a more sensible pair – at this hour on New Year’s Day in central London, walking home was by far the best option, but not in party heels – while Edward watched her in bemusement, catching at her occasionally when she seemed about to fall in pursuit of her aim.

Then, at last safely wrapped in coat, scarf, hat and sturdier shoes, Julia took his arm and they walked out into the new decade together.


	46. Consequences of a Fall (Teen, 1951: Edward Iveson/Julia Graves)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward comes home to find the house worryingly silent, with no sign of Julia…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feb 1951; Julia Graves/Edward Iveson.
> 
> Prompts: Cookies & Cream #18 (slip), White Chocolate #16 (horror) + Gummy Bunnies (also for Hurt/Comfort Bingo square “accidents”).
> 
> Notes/warnings: pregnancy, miscarriage, injury, guilt.

Edward called out a greeting as he came into the house, but heard nothing in response. As he hung his coat up on its hook in the hall, he felt irrationally uneasy at the silence in the building. He paused for a moment, listening for some sound that would indicate Julia moving about, and then checked the living room, the study, the dining room and the kitchen, all to no avail.

He stopped again at the foot of the stairs, looking up. “Julia?”

There was still no answer. He forced a short laugh at his folly. It was hardly unreasonable of her to be out when he came in. She usually was around somewhere, of course, so he’d been spoiled. He could hardly complain now. It was uncharacteristic of Julia not to leave a note or to telephone, but no doubt she had forgotten, or been delayed out at the shops.

He headed up the stairs, not feeling any more reassured, despite his logic. It wasn’t like Julia to disappear at tea time, or not without explanation, and he could feel himself tensing as he reached the landing. He walked over into the bedroom, and felt a lurch of disappointment that she wasn’t lying on the bed, perhaps having fallen asleep or feeling unwell.

He sat down on the bed. Maybe there had been a note downstairs – maybe he’d missed it somehow? He closed his eyes, trying to think more clearly. Had her winter coat been hanging up, next to his? He was sure it had been, and she would hardly have gone out without it on a damp February day, whatever she was doing. He stood again, casting off all attempts to reassure himself, and determined to search every corner of the house and garden. If her coat was here, then so was she, and if she wasn’t answering him, he couldn’t sit here and try to imagine why; he had to find her.

He called out again on the landing, again to no reply, but even as he did so, he realised that the bathroom door was shut, when it was usually ajar if no one was in there. He leapt across to it, and knocked. “Julia,” he said, pressing himself against it, listening hard. “Julia! Look, I’m coming in –”

He tried the door and found it unlocked, so he pushed it open, only to halt in the doorway, finding her lying on the floor inside, white, unmoving and with blood pooling out around her.

He wasn’t sure how long he stopped and stared; whether it was barely a fraction of a second that felt like forever, or if he had already wasted too much precious time hanging back in dismay, but all he could think in that moment, however long or short it was, was that she was dead and his whole being froze over with horror. He couldn’t move, not until her saw her stir slightly and try to pull herself up against the wall.

“Ned,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. “Oh, no. No. Go away!”

He dropped to his knees beside her, heedless of her instruction or the blood, still trying to rally his thoughts, to make sense of the situation, but too much shocked to succeed. “Julia,” he said, and was startled by how normal his voice sounded when he felt almost divorced from his usual self. “I can’t leave you now, can I?” He tried to sound as reasonable as possible, putting a tentative hand to her shoulder. “What happened?”

“I slipped,” she said, and then closed her eyes again, and he had to tighten his hold on her to keep her from sliding back onto the floor in exhaustion. “I d-don’t really remember. I think I dropped the soap, and I didn’t clean it up – and then –” She had to stop. “I fell. I hit my head – I think. I passed out, and when I woke up –” She opened her eyes and waved a hand down at herself weakly, at the blood that was over her skirt. “I was – this had happened. That was all, I promise. Please don’t fuss.”

Edward slid his arm further around her, the implication of her words and the situation finally beginning to sink in, alarming him further, because he didn’t know the first thing about any issues to do with pregnancy – women’s troubles, not to be meddled in by men, unless they were paid specialists, he thought wryly. “Julia, shh. Look, stay still. If you knocked yourself out, you need to be careful, even aside from the rest. I’m going to have to call for the doctor.”

“No,” she said, gripping his free hand.

He made himself be patient and not let his fear get the better of him. “Julia –”

“I don’t want the doctor – I don’t want anyone else to know –”

Edward kept hold of her hand. “Darling, I have to. Even if you’d only knocked your head, I’d have to. He’ll be sensible – I’m sure he’s much less likely to fuss than I am.” He released her hand and raised his fingers to her head, gently brushing the hair back from her temple. “You’ve quite a cut there, you know.”

Julia shut her eyes for the second time and tears slid down her face. She nodded, but she wouldn’t say anything more, while he kissed her head and told her again that he must send for the doctor, that he would go downstairs, but only for a few minutes at most and that she wasn’t to move until he came back. He said it again, until she gave a brief nod in acknowledgement, and he hurried away to make the call.

On the way back up, he had to stop for a moment as the shock of it began to catch up with him. He gripped the banister and halted there, half-leaning over it, breathing in and out. God, he’d thought she was dead, and he was still sick at the mere idea – sick with the relief, too, and with the worry that he might yet lose her. 

He took hold of himself, aware that Julia was waiting for him upstairs, and he ran back up, this time beginning at least to think a little more clearly. He filled the tooth mug with water and brought it over to her.

He crouched back down beside her, holding the cup for her as she at least made some effort to drink it. “Dr Marshall is on his way. It’ll all be fine, don’t worry.” Thinking more clearly didn’t help in some ways. He wondered now why she hadn’t told him. How could she keep something like this from him? How had he not noticed? He should have done; he must be the most unobservant, inconsiderate husband alive.

“I’m not w-worrying,” she said, turning her head away from him as she stopped drinking. “I just don’t want to see the doctor, not like this.”

Edward put down the cup and took her hand. “Well, all right. I can’t tell the doctor not to come – and I won’t, Julia – but if we’re careful, I don’t see why I can’t help clean you up a little – maybe even get you into the bedroom. That would be better, wouldn’t it?”

She didn’t respond for a moment, but then she turned her head back towards him with an effort and gave another nod.

 

Edward managed to help Julia off with her clothes, wiping down first her face with the flannel, and then as much as the rest of her as they could both achieve without moving her too much. Having done that and got her into her nightdress without any evidence of trouble with her head or causing further bleeding, he thought he could take the risk of helping her the few steps across from the bathroom into the bedroom.

“You don’t feel sick, do you?” he asked

She merely shook her head, and lay down, closing her eyes, shutting him out.

Edward had to fight the urge to ask her more questions, knowing that he wanted to only to find some reassurance for himself, to know that she was all right. And the first was not important yet, while the second was something only the doctor could tell them. He bent down, putting his hand to her shoulder briefly. “I’ll go and get you some more water. The doctor will be here soon, I’m sure.”

 

The doctor was thankfully as prompt as he had promised, arriving only around half an hour later. He lost no time in examining Julia, but didn’t seem to be too worried, as he told first Julia and then Edward. It should have been comforting, but haunted by the memory of finding Julia lying in the bathroom, Edward half wanted the man to be more alarmed over it all, even to whisk her away to hospital, because surely _something_ ought to be done.

“Mr Iveson?” said the doctor, in mild query at Edward’s lack of response to his report.

Edward gave a short smile and held the door open for him, ushering him out of the bedroom and down the stairs. “You really think Julia will be all right?”

“I wouldn’t have said so if I didn’t,” Dr Marshall said, but there was no offence in his tone. “Mrs Iveson has had a very unpleasant experience, and I’ll come back in the morning to take another look at her, but I don’t see any reason she shouldn’t be feeling herself again soon. There’s no sign of concussion, and I don’t believe any lasting damage has been done.”

Edward nodded. He still wanted more from him than that, but he didn’t know what, so he opted not to make a fool of himself by asking the same questions all over again.

“She’s still in shock,” the doctor added, pausing in the hallway as Edward retrieved his coat and hat for him. “As I said, I’ll come back in the morning. And of course, if either of you have any concerns or notice anything untoward, then you must telephone or take her to the hospital.”

Edward opened the door, thanking him mechanically and the shut it behind him. He looked up the stairs, wondering what to do now. The doctor had been and gone and he might have put their immediate concerns to rest, but Julia still wasn’t at all herself, and he didn’t know what the best course of action was.

He headed first into the kitchen. It had been Mrs Crosbie’s usual day, so he was hopeful of finding something that merely needed heating up. Otherwise, he thought, he’d have to hunt around for something tinned and inevitably inadequate.

 

Julia hadn’t eaten much. She still wasn’t really talking to him, seeming to take a long while to process anything he said, and Edward disliked it. Julia didn’t usually cut herself off from him, and he felt strangely off-balance, wanting to see her return to something like normal, and knowing that he mustn’t be unreasonable as if she ought to simply bounce back from her injuries to please him.

“Shall I make you some tea?” he asked, hovering by side of the bed.

She turned then, and gave him what was almost a smile. “Are you _sure_ you can cope, darling?” she said.

Edward grinned back, relieved. It didn’t mean that everything was fine yet, of course, but it was a standing joke between them, since the only other time they’d had to take Julia to a doctor, a year ago, the medical man in question had been decidedly old fashioned and made a ponderous joke on the subject.

 

Tea didn’t solve everything, either, unfortunately, Edward reflected later that night, lying awake beside Julia. He had made the tea with plenty of milk and sugar and had been relieved to see that she’d drunk all of it. While she had, he’d telephoned Mr Morley to see if he could escape attending a particularly long and tedious meeting he had scheduled for the morning. Mr Morley had been sympathetic and agreed to arrange for someone else to attend. Edward had then telephoned Mrs Crosbie to see if she was available to work an extra afternoon, and then there had been little else to do. He’d made sure Julia was still all right and gone to read over some papers in the study, but he might as well have spared himself the effort, as he hadn’t taken in a word, worrying about Julia upstairs.

She still hadn’t been properly communicative or truly herself, despite the brief flicker of normality earlier and while he knew he shouldn’t expect that she should be, it worried him intensely. He wasn’t sure if she wanted him there, or if she would rather be alone, but since when she was herself, she had told him never to hide away from her in the spare room, he decided that he shouldn’t assume that she would suddenly prefer to be left by herself in the dark again when she was unwell.

He lay there, anxious and tense despite all the doctor’s reassurances, still awake and watching her as she faced away from him, silent.

~o~

 

Julia woke suddenly from a nightmare, her heart beating too hard. She opened her eyes; whatever the dream had been slipping irretrievably out of her mind but leaving the impression of fear behind. Oddly, she felt better despite that, as if the feeling of unreality that had divorced her from everything else had gone. It unfortunately left her unable to hide from all the other things – there was pain, her head ached, and it was the last way she’d wanted to find out that she really was pregnant, or that she had been until she stupidly slipped in the bathroom and ruined everything.

She’d probably not been unconscious for long that afternoon – she still couldn’t seem to think what time it had been when she went in to clean the bathroom. She’d first regained semi-consciousness only to feel too dazed to understand what had happened and finding herself bleeding, she could only react in uncomprehending horror till consciousness faded again. She hadn’t understood until later, when she’d come round fully, only a few minutes before Edward had returned. She hadn’t wanted him there yet, when she had only just realised the truth herself, and had no time to take it in.

What must he think of her? He’d been treating her like something made out of porcelain all evening and she hadn’t even had the energy to tell him not to. But maybe he would see now that he had made a bad bargain after all with this marriage. She blinked back tears, not well enough to cast aside her morbid fears, and certainly not at this dark hour. She felt panic begin to build up within her and she shifted against the pillows, desperately needing human company. She shook him awake. “Edward,” she said. “Edward!”

Instead of his usual annoyed burying himself further into the bedclothes, he sat up immediately, turning to stare at her in the gloom. “Julia?”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I was lying here and I had to talk to you.”

He turned on the bedside lamp, and rubbed his eyes. “Yes, yes,” he said. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, really,” she said, propping herself up against the pillows and giving an apologetic, uneven smile. “I’m sorry. I had a nightmare and I wanted you. I felt for a moment I might scream if I didn’t, and I thought you’d like being woken up that way even less.”

Edward watched her for a moment, and then laughed. “Well, I suppose that’s fair enough. Julia –”

“I’m sorry,” she said again. “I feel more like myself – and I seem to want to talk. I suppose that might be the shock, too.” She held out her hand to him, still anxious.

Edward took her hand, stroking her fingers with his thumb, and then also kissed her head for good measure. “Probably. And don’t apologise. I told you – I’ve already arranged to miss the meeting I had in the morning, so I don’t have to get up and go anywhere.”

“I thought you might hate me.”

“Don’t be stupid.”

She stared at the ceiling, although she didn’t pull her hand out of his. “But I’ve spoiled everything. Ned, I didn’t even know, not for certain. I thought – I thought I might be pregnant, and I’d made an appointment to see the doctor, but I didn’t want to tell you before then in case it wasn’t true. And then I did _this_.”

“It was an accident,” he said, drawing himself up. “Julia! I wish you had told me – but it’s not as if it would have made any difference. And it’s not your fault. The doctor said. These things happen.”

Julia wondered if he didn’t understand yet what they’d lost, but she decided merely to be glad for now that he wasn’t angry, and she shifted over to lean against him, unable to fully keep back the tears.

“Julia,” he said. “Can I get you another cup of tea? Or hot milk – cocoa, perhaps?”

Julia raised her eyebrows. Given how grumpy Edward usually was at being woken in the night, she must have given him quite the fright this afternoon. Still, she didn’t mind. For the moment, she felt shaken enough to be glad of whatever fussing he was willing to provide. After all, it wasn’t something she planned to make a habit of. “Really?”

“Well,” he said, and she could hear the edge of humour in his voice, “I _can_ cope, you know.”

 

“You were a long time,” Julia commented when he returned, bearing a hot mug of cocoa for her and a Bovril for him. (He couldn’t be bothered with the fuss of making tea at two in the morning, she thought, amused, and he never had much cared for hot milk or cocoa.) “Weren’t you? I’m sorry, I still seem to be all over the place.”

He put the mug down on the bedside table carefully, and kissed her forehead. “Julia, I’d hardly expect you to be fine after all that.” Then he gave a slight, sheepish smile and said, “I had an altercation with Trouble. He’s not used to sharing the kitchen at this hour. We had words.”

She picked up the mug, putting her hands around it, glad of the warmth. It was a chilly night, despite the bedclothes around her. She waited while Edward climbed back into bed. “Thank you,” she said. “And I really am sorry.”

“Will you stop saying that?” he said. “Julia! My God, when I walked in and found you like that, I thought you were dead –” He stopped, and she had to look away to put her drink back down, so that she could slip her arm through his. “You were just – lying there, and there seemed to be blood everywhere –”

Julia closed her eyes and leant against him again. She breathed out more easily. “I see,” she said, snuggling in closer. “So this is what it takes to get you to bring me a hot drink in the middle of the night.”

“ _Julia_ ,” he said, in reproachful tones. Then he hugged her, if still cautiously. “Well, you must be feeling at least a little better.”

She bit her lip before answering, feeling tears threaten again. “A little,” she said. “Maybe.”


	47. Working Holiday (T, 1951: Edward Iveson/Julia Graves)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I seem to have wandered into the first few chapters of a detective novel…”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> April 1951; Julia Graves, Edward Iveson.
> 
> Prompts: Peach #13 (tell someone who cares) + Cherry (for the epistolary format)
> 
> Notes/warnings: epistolary, some references to mental illness & suicide.

Monday

Dear Edward,

I seem to have wondered into the first few chapters of a detective novel in coming here – only without any murders. (I hope!) The house itself is late Victorian and the gardens are overgrown, which makes everything inside seem even darker than it should. There is a worrying feeling of things unsaid hanging over its occupants and nobody is quite at ease. Mrs Kendall is just as friendly as she was when we met her at Diana’s, but Mr Kendall is very quiet and seems to be some kind of invalid, although not in any way that has been exactly explained to me. He has a nurse, though, a Mrs Flood. To round the household off, Mrs Kendall told me she invited her cousin Rosamund to keep me company, but that seems to have been rather optimistic of her. Rosamund is currently aggrieved over a friend’s behaviour and not much inclined to talk about anything else. In terms of staff, there is a stern elderly maid who probably came with the house, and a cook, whom I _do_ like, from what little I’ve seen of her.

Dinner was one of the most uncomfortable meals I’ve ever had – not because of the food, but trying to keep any conversation going was like wading uphill through porridge and hard as I tried, even I had talked myself out before dessert came round. (And you needn’t look like that when you read this, or ask me if I’ve ever actually waded through porridge, because, honestly, it was dreadful.) So I told them I had some letters to write and escaped to my room, hence this epistle before I make a liar of myself.

Not that you deserve it, though. All the times you’ve been away since we’ve been married and I don’t believe you’ve ever sent me a letter – not one! (Postcards and telegrams don’t count.) 

However, I’ve had a look at the rooms Mrs K told us about and they are both very promising in size and shape and so on and currently much in need of rescuing from dire Victorian wallpaper – one of them was swathed in a particularly horrid green. I’m sure once I get going on those, everything will be fine. In the meantime, you can say you told me so all you like, as I am definitely regretting that reckless offer of mine. 

If the evenings are all going to be like this, though, you may as well resign yourself to a whole series of letters just as pointless and full of waffle as this one.

All my love,

Julia

P.S. If there is a murder, my money is on the nurse. She looks at one as if she’s mentally measuring out the fatal dose.

* * *

Monday evening

Darling Ned,

A telephone call is very nice, but not the same as a letter _at all_. And when I think how many letters you manage to write every day, it seems even more unfair. It might qualify as cruelty to your wife. You could even tell your secretary to write something for you, as long as you sign it yourself. It would be better than nothing. 

Julia  
xxx

* * *

Tuesday

Dear Edward,

I know I joked about the atmosphere here before, but it really is very uncomfortable. I was stripping the wallpaper from the first room when Mr Kendall came in and stood there for a bit, but went out again before I could ask what he wanted, and then five minutes later, the nurse came in and raked me down for upsetting him.

I wasn’t sure what to do for a while, but then Mrs Kendall turned up and suggested that I should go into town and amuse myself, and perhaps Cousin Rosamond would like to go with me. Cousin Rosamond, as ever, was not in a mood to oblige. She told me she had a bad cold and was retiring to bed and if I had any sense, I shouldn’t go out in this weather either. However, being undeterred – and very keen to get away from them all – I went in search of Cook and asked her if she wanted anything from the shops. She was in need of some baking soda and marmalade, so I have now at least earned her undying gratitude (particularly by acquiring exactly the right kind of marmalade, even though she forgot to tell me) and been useful to someone.

Since I arrived back, I get the feeling that conversations stop or are rapidly changed every time I walk into a room. I keep thinking that I am sure I have read a dozen stories where some innocent person is lured into a queer situation and used to commit a crime or establish an alibi or have all the blame cast onto them. You should know exactly what I mean, since you constantly steal all my crime novels.

I’m joking again, of course. I don’t think anyone means me any harm, but this isn’t a happy household, and I would, selfishly perhaps, much rather be at home again. I coped this evening by asking if I might listen to the radio and so Mrs Kendall and I solemnly sat through Mrs Dale’s Diary. (I was very good and didn’t talk to any of the characters; rest assured no one will be packing me off to the County Asylum for forgetting.)

Of course, if Mr Kendall is still opposed to me decorating, I could be home very soon indeed. I shall let you know if so, although I don’t know why I bother to write that, since if I do, the telegram should reach you before this letter.

 _Wednesday morning_  
Well, you will get this letter and not a telegram, as I have been told I may continue decorating both rooms, and Mrs Flood has apologised, so everything is well again, even if the household remains a little uncomfortable.

Or perhaps it’s just me. You know that I never have liked living with strangers – in our house, or me in theirs. I should be a good deal more patient.

Anyway, I should still be here for the week, as planned. I hope that before the end of it, I receive a letter from you or I shan’t forgive you until at least some time next month.

All my love,

Julia.

* * *

Thursday

Dear Edward,

I have nearly completed room #1, in cream and lavender, while room #2 is to be fairly similar, only in blue and primrose. All continues to be well, except that I somehow managed to miss a large splotch of lavender paint on my forehead when washing, and it was only just before I went to bed that Cousin Rosamund decided she ought to tell me.

I am now fully scrubbed down and feeling more than usually stupid. Much as I enjoy the actual decorating, you need not fear that I shall make a living out of it and run away from you, as I am currently hating every moment here in a most pathetic manner and missing home quite horribly. The house and Mrs Crosbie, I should say – not my heartless husband who writes six hundred letters a day but never one to his wife. (I tried to telephone you earlier, but you were out. I hope you are as sorry as you ought to be to learn that.)

Still, everything is now well under way, and I should meet you as planned at King’s Cross on Monday. Do remember and don’t schedule a very important meeting that evening or allow anyone to start a national crisis (at least not before Tuesday). After a week with the Kendalls and Cousin Rosamund, if you are not there when I get off the train, I shall probably stand in the station and cry – and not talk to you at all when you do get home.

Please take care of yourself, and don’t let Trouble have the run of the house when you are out. Make sure all the doors are closed! We must have some curtains left, or I shall waste your fortune on replacing them all.

Love Julia

* * *

Friday

Dear Ned

I now understand what the problem has been, or at least part of it and it’s awful. Not for me, but I can’t help feeling angry with Mrs Kendall for not explaining in the first place. It makes me feel as if I came in and behaved completely like a heartless wretch. 

You see, one of the rooms was indeed only a spare bedroom in need of brightening up, but the other one, the one with the vile green wallpaper, was once the Kendalls’ son’s room. He died some time ago – perhaps in the war, I’m not sure and I didn’t like to ask. Mr Kendall has insisted on keeping it all as it was. Mrs Kendall thought that it might help them all if it was redecorated instead, and she brought me in partly because I didn’t know anything of the story. And now the room is cream and lavender and Mr Kendall silently hates me, and so does his nurse.

So I wasn’t entirely wrong about having been dragged up here on false pretences, in a sense. And I know I shouldn’t be so stupidly sorry for myself when the tragedy is all on the Kendalls’ side, but I really don’t think I can do any more decorating if it is going to be so traumatic for everyone involved.

I feel guilty about it all, and a little dismal, though. You _will_ be there at King’s Cross on Monday, won’t you? I tried to telephone you again just now and you weren’t there – and I even tried the office, but they merely took a message and didn’t sound very hopeful about ever reaching you with it before the decade was out. So, you have this letter. I might see if I can escape earlier, but I will let you know if I do. I may as well finish off that other room, though – at least that’s not offensive to anyone, and I did promise Mrs Kendall I would do it.

But if it were possible, I would tramp down to the station with my case right now and come home.

Love Julia

_Later_

P. S. I re-read this again and I’m sorry – you should ignore most of it. I will see you Monday – I expect it will all be a little better here now that everybody knows what’s going on.

* * *

Julia put her case down on the landing and went halfway down the stairs again to check whether or not anybody else was still using the telephone. She sighed to see that Cousin Rosamund was engaged in what sounded like a long and serious conversation with someone. Naturally, they had more need of it than she did, but it was rather a way from here into the town and she wasn’t sure how else to get a taxi. She contemplated pulling a few essentials out of her case into her bag and leaving it behind, so that she could walk. But how many miles was it? She thought that it must be at least seven or eight and it was already half past four. 

“Mrs Iveson,” said Mrs Gregory, the cook, calling from the bottom of the stairs.

Julia leant over the banister. “Can I do anything?”

“I don’t think so,” Mrs Gregory said, “but you’d better go into the living room – there’s a gentleman in there to see you. Says he’s Mr Iveson.”

Julia abandoned her luggage and flew down the stairs and into the front room of the house to find that it really was Edward who had arrived. He was gazing idly out the window, leaning against the fireplace, and turned sharply when she burst in.

“Ned,” she said, unable to understand how he could have realised he was needed, and then threw herself at him, holding onto him tightly before pulling away to look at him again, just to be sure it wasn’t an hallucination. She tugged at his jacket, straightening it, not quite willing to let go. “But how are you here? How can you be? I’m so glad to see you, but how did you _know_?”

Edward glanced over at the door and then kissed her cheek. “Well, judging by your letters, either something was wrong, or you were exaggerating to see what I’d do. If it was the former, I was worried, and if the latter, I would hate to disappoint you.” 

“You can telephone – you can come running up here on the slightest bit of encouragement,” Julia said, “but you can’t bring yourself to write me a single letter!”

He shook his head at her, and then pulled a small envelope out of his jacket pocket and pressed it into her hand. “A letter. For you. What’s happened? I take it something must have done.”

“It was Mr Kendall,” said Julia. “Oh, but you won’t know, because you can’t have got today’s letter. I’ll explain everything when we’re not here, but he isn’t well – he hasn’t really been well since the Great War, Cook says, and this week has just exacerbated things and – oh, dear, you see-” Julia lowered her voice. “I think – well he tried to drown himself in the pond, but luckily it isn’t very deep and the gardener saw. But they had to take him to hospital and they certainly don’t want me here any more. So, I was trying to get a moment on the telephone to call a taxi so that I could get back to York station and come home – and now, suddenly, here you are!”

Edward put a hand to her shoulder, and then kissed her again. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. Then he said, “I did send a telegram, but I imagine it was missed in all the fuss. I thought nobody could mind my claiming you for an evening or two on the weekend – I’ve booked a hotel somewhere near the Minster. I’ll go and tell someone and then we’ll be off.”

“And get the train back in the morning?” said Julia.

Edward gave a smile. “Well, since you seem to be free now, I think we could take an evening train and have the day in York. I’ve only ever really been through it before, and I hear it’s worth a proper look.”

“That sounds much _too_ nice,” said Julia. “Now I’m a wretch who causes misery with lavender paint and then swans off to have a nice time in York. But it’s also too nice an offer to turn down, so, please – tell somebody you’ll take this troublemaker away, and I shall go and fetch my case.”

“Yes, do. I have a taxi waiting.”

“Sometimes,” said Julia, halfway between laughter and tears, “I love you very much, despite everything.”

* * *

Thursday

Dear Julia,

Here, you will see, is a letter, not even dictated to my secretary (who asked to be remembered to you, even if you seem to have forgotten his name again), but written in my own hand (and so almost entirely illegible, for which I apologise).

I am sure I have written you several letters in the past, in addition to a good number of postcards, but I hardly want to be accused of cruelty, so here is this effort, such as it is.

I suppose, to be truthful, the only thing I have to say is that I am a hypocrite at heart – I travel frequently for my own work and yet am quite miserable when you do the same for once. The house is suddenly over-large and over-quiet – even though I know that I lived here for at least three months before the wedding and cannot recall thinking so then.

Of course, worst of all, is that you took with you the book I was halfway through reading and so I don’t even have that consolation left to me. Please return it (and yourself) as soon as possible. You don’t sound as if you are enjoying it up there, and you seem to have got a lot of the work done. Do you think you could arrange to return on the weekend instead? It would be no problem to come and meet you.

In any case, please take care.

Yours, Edward.


	48. Shot in the Park (T, 1951: Edward Iveson/Julia Graves, Roderick Howe, Amyas Harding, Diana Foyle, James Seymour, Lionel Graves)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward can’t seem to get through a visit to the Howes’s without injury. This time it’s worse than the last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aug 1951; Edward Iveson, Julia Graves, Roderick Howe, Amyas Harding, Diana Foyle, Lionel Graves, James Seymour.
> 
> Prompts: White Chocolate 5 (outrage) + Brownie + Gummy Bunnies (also for Hurt/Comfort Bingo square “orphans”).
> 
> Notes/Warnings: gunshot wound, blackmail, references to period-typical homophobia. See Hero of the Lower Sixth for the fact that there should have been more on James & what is left being not quite what I'd intended.

Neither Edward nor Julia wanted to have another stay at Lord Howe’s country estate but since Mr Morley had insisted Edward go in his place on this occasion, they had little choice.

“It’s only four days,” Edward said, after he’d broken the news. “If you don’t want to come, there’s no reason you should.”

Julia shook her head. If he had been going anywhere else, she would have agreed with him, especially at the moment, when she had reason to want to stay home and keep safe, but their last visit to the Howes’s had been peculiar and she wasn’t sure she could trust Edward to have a proper sense of self-preservation. “Oh, no. Look what happened last time – and I only took my eye off you for a moment. I dread to think what you might do if I wasn’t there. I’m coming.”

“Julia,” Edward said, pausing in opening his letters to give her a dark look. “I have no plans to throw myself into the fishpond on this occasion, I assure you.”

“I’m glad to hear it, but I’m still coming with you.”

 

The first two days passed uneventfully – tediously, even, at least for Julia, who hadn’t been able to escape with the Howes’s daughters this time, as they were away visiting their grandmother. Edward seemed to have plenty to discuss with any number of people, especially Amyas Harding, and she merely had to spend her time with Lady Howe and various other stray members of the party, who were merely there for enjoyment, not business. On the third day, having learned to steer clear of the actress who was one of Lord Howe’s current celebrity guests, Julia found herself talking to an odd, shabby man who introduced himself as James Seymour and said that he’d been at school with Edward.

She remarked on the coincidence to Edward that evening as they dressed for dinner, surprised that he hadn’t seemed to notice his school friend, only to be roundly corrected on that point.

“ _Not_ a friend,” Edward said, adjusting his bow tie for at least the fourth time, and squinting into the mirror in dissatisfaction. “The reverse, if I’m truthful. He doesn’t look as if he’s done very well for himself, does he? I wonder what he’s doing here. Lord Howe is hardly much into charity work.”

Julia raised an eyebrow, merely standing there, watching him.

“What?” he said, eventually registering her stare.

She shrugged. “I think that’s about the most cutting I’ve heard you be about someone unless they’d done something completely awful.”

“Perhaps he has,” said Edward. “Lord Howe doesn’t care for me or you, or more accurately, it seems, he didn’t much care for our parents. And now he’s invited Seymour here – I don’t like it.”

Julia laughed at him for that – after all, whatever it was that Lord Howe had said to him last time, she hadn’t heard it, and Edward had just banged his head quite badly – but after dinner, Lord Howe cornered her, and the moment was odd enough to also give her cause for concern.

“I knew your mother well,” he said, leading her aside to look at some paintings he’d recently acquired. “I was sorry to hear – well, I needn’t go into that again, I daresay?”

Julia was glad he hadn’t. She couldn’t like him, and she would rather not have sympathy from someone she disliked.

Lord Howe then glanced across the room, at where Edward seemed to be talking to James Seymour at last. “Old friends, those two, I gather. I’m sure they have a good deal to catch up on.”

There was something as strange somehow about that as there had been in his supposedly innocent condolences over her mother’s death. Julia made a mental apology to Edward for doubting him on the subject last year. 

She gave an uninterested shrug and carried on staring at the painting without taking in any of it. “I don’t think so – more in the nature of an acquaintance, so Edward told me.”

“Oh?” said Lord Howe, with a lift in his voice, and then turned back to the painting, asking her to guess how much he’d paid for it before he finally consented to tell her. 

She made her excuses as soon as she could without being rude, unsettled by the encounter without being able to pinpoint why. If she’d recounted the conversation to anyone else, they’d be bemused at her unease. But generally Lord Howe cut straight to business, that was the thing; even in the few times she’d met him, she’d gathered that. If he was going round the houses about the issue instead, he was most likely up to something. It was, however, hard to imagine what or why.

“Mrs Iveson.”

She turned, and then smiled in relief to find Amyas Harding at her elbow. “Oh, Mr Harding! I’m sorry. I didn’t see you there.”

“I am quite crushed,” he told her, and grasped her hand, kissing her on the cheek before drawing back. “I thought you’d like to know that Mrs Foyle will be joining us tomorrow. She said she was glad to hear you were here.”

Julia was equally glad of the news herself. “Oh, well, that’s something – although I suppose she’ll be locked up in meetings with the rest of you for most of the day.”

“We have a break tomorrow morning,” he said. “But, after that, I’m afraid so. Now where is that husband of yours, leaving you to be preyed upon by untrustworthy sorts such as myself? Ah,” he said then, interrupting himself as he evidently spied Edward across the room. “Who is that fellow he’s talking to – looks like a failed artist, not one of Howe’s usual exhibits?”

Julia gave a sigh, because if people were going to be peculiar about things, it would have been more helpful for her peace of mind if Edward hadn’t declared to have hated the chap and then gone off and spent twenty minutes talking to him. “James Seymour. They were at the same school, that’s all.”

“No,” said Amyas, breaking into a brief laugh. “Doesn’t look Edward’s sort of fellow at all, does he?”

 

“Ned,” said Julia, after he’d climbed into bed later that night. “Why are you worried about Seymour being here? Because Lord Howe was being odd about him, and I think you might be right. But I’d like to understand.”

Edward only gave a short sigh as he pulled the covers over him. “Look, it doesn’t matter. Ancient history. If Howe thinks he can find anything worth raking up there, he’s much mistaken.”

“Stop being cryptic,” said Julia, sitting up and poking him. “That explains nothing, and forewarned is forearmed. Anyway, you said you didn’t really know Seymour well. Please don’t lie to me.”

He pressed his head into the pillow and she thought that he was going to ignore her, but then he propped himself up and looked at her before finally replying. “I didn’t say that. I said we weren’t friends. And we weren’t – we despised each other. Seymour was nearly two years older and only in the same class because he’d been expelled twice from previous schools. He still didn’t care – his father was rich enough to make the sort of financial donations that’d keep him there even if he didn’t hand in his prep. And, you see, I was a prefect and I –” He stopped, and sat up again, giving her a hard stare. “If you’re only going to laugh, I’m not going to carry on.”

“Sorry,” said Julia, smothering her giggles in her pillow. “It’s only that _of course_ you were a prefect, darling. I should have realised.”

Edward actually paused and looked at her in some surprise. “Weren’t you?”

Julia had to fight hard not to laugh even more. “Not everybody was, you know, even in a small school. Especially girls who had a German mother. It would not be giving the right message – although I was blackboard monitor a few times, so don’t despise me too much for my failure to be the upstanding sort the school was after. Please, go on.”

“Look, it’s not the sort of thing I’d mention in the usual way,” said Edward. “But if Lord Howe is coming out with ridiculous insinuations, I suppose I must. You see, underneath it all, I suppose he wasn’t quite as couldn’t-care-less as he seemed to the rest of us.” He lay back down on the pillow and frowned; his shifting about a clear sign of awkwardness and discomfort. “He liked me, you see. I had no idea until he left – and, as I said, I never had any time for him. It’s hard to imagine how Lord Howe knew, or what he thinks he could make of it.”

Julia stared up at the ceiling, and bit her lip as she thought about it; her amusement abruptly dying away. She shouldn’t be surprised, of course. When Edward had sat her down early on last year and finally explained to her about Nancy before she put her foot in it over the issue, he’d said, as if unable to understand her slowness, “But you went to boarding school!” He’d seemed to think that she could hardly have missed such things, which did rather imply that he had certainly noticed them at his school. She’d asked him then, whether he had ever had a relationship with one of the other boys, and he’d only laughed and said, not unless she counted the time he was twelve and one of his friends had first tried to kiss him and then, when he wasn’t taken with the idea, punched him on the nose and told him he’d knock him down if he ever told anyone. Whatever had or hadn’t happened, he’d left out James Seymour entirely.

“Edward,” she said, trying to think how to put it, “if – well, you wouldn’t have to lie to me, you know. I know you love me now, and that’s what matters.”

He sat up slightly and shook his head. “No, Julia. Honestly, it was just a mess – one of those things. If Lord Howe is trying to blow something up at of that, then he’s raking the bottom of the barrel and, my God, he’s got a damned nerve to try. All that I did in the end was – well, I got Seymour expelled again, if you must know. And, honestly, that was it. There’s nothing to tell.”

“But still,” said Julia, “if that’s what Lord Howe is aiming at, then he’s a very nasty little man, and, anyway I don’t suppose he has to _prove_ things, does he? Insinuations in the right places would be enough – and he owns a national newspaper! Why would Seymour go along with him? He can’t still hold such a grudge that he’d risk prison just to get you into trouble, surely?”

Edward shrugged. “Neither can I. More likely, he’s in need of cash, or Howe has got something else on him.”

“It seems so ridiculous. I know Mr Harding and Mr Morley seem to think well of you, but you’re hardly in the sort of position to have newspaper magnates taking you down.”

“It seems ridiculous to me, too. But, I told you, he was peculiar on the subject of our parents last time, as if he thought you and I had got together and married merely to plot against him.”

Julia turned her head away and stared upward at the ceiling, unseeing in the greyness of the room. “We don’t know,” she said almost under her breath. She didn’t know what connection her parents had to Lord Howe, nor did Edward know when it came to his side, either, because they’d both lost them too soon, one way or another. And every new piece of information or question about Edward reminded her suddenly of how very little she knew of his history. She knew him well enough by now to trust him, but reminders of that fact always made her feel a little lost inside. She sighed. 

“Julia?” he said, shifting slightly beside her.

She shook her head, and closed her eyes, turning away from him, her hand going to her stomach, unseen. Now was not a moment that she wanted to remember the odd genesis of their relationship. “Nothing, darling.”

 

The next morning most of the guests went on a walk, which Julia found a great relief from the enforced tedium of staying in the house and grounds with a group of people who were largely about as obnoxious as her Uncle Lionel. And it meant she could have some time with Edward.

“I think we’ve lost them all,” she said, leaning in towards him, slipping her arm through his. “Bully for us.”

Edward shook his head at her, but grinned, and they continued, breaking slightly apart as they walked on through the narrow stretch of woodland, out of sight of the nearest of their fellow guests.

Somewhere nearby, a loud noise disturbed the peace, most likely a gunshot. Was it time for shooting already? thought Julia. Didn’t that come later in the autumn? She wasn’t entirely sure, never having been a country girl, and while her parents had had active social lives, it hadn’t included visiting the sort of upper class set where people went off shooting grouse and pheasants on a regular basis.

“Julia,” said Edward in a tone of mild surprise. “It hit me. I’ve been shot.”

She turned, about to scold him for making such a joke, when something in his face cut her short and she stepped instantly forward, catching at his arm. “No,” she said. “Surely not! Where?”

“My shoulder,” he said, and nodded, but the action seemed to pain him. 

He paled abruptly as she turned her attention to his other arm, moving round him till she saw the hole in his jacket, the darkening stain around it, and she stared and then, to her shame, simply panicked. “Ned! Oh, God! Ned!”

He still seemed almost preternaturally calm – in shock, she supposed. “Julia. I’m all right, I’m still here. Just –”

“Yes, yes,” she said, forcing herself to act, and helped him to sit down against the nearest tree. He bit back a short cry as he moved.

“I’m sorry, darling,” said Julia, putting an unsteady hand to his cheek. “Give me a moment.” 

She pulled off her bag and searched it for something with which to stop the bleeding, but all she had was a packed lunch. She thought again and then pulled off her slip from under her skirt, folding it up and pressing it against the wound. 

“Lean back,” she said, “you can hold it in place while I –” She dived back into the bag, her sentence trailing; a sign of her scattered mind, and then pulled out the flask of tea. Oh, God, she thought, her mind running in ten different directions, as he merely closed his eyes and gritted his teeth – she should apply the slip with proper pressure, she should make him drink the tea – she should run for help –

“Iveson,” said Seymour, arriving from behind them, pushing aside some branches as he made his way across. He was out of breath and carrying a shotgun. “Bloody hell, I’m sorry.”

Julia started, disbelieving both her eyes and ears for a moment. “Wait – you _shot_ Edward?”

Seymour put the gun down and ran his hand through his already disarranged dark hair. “No. Yes. It was meant to be a warning shot. Over his head, to get you to go.”

“Well,” said Julia, since he didn’t seem to be about to have another try, “for the moment, hold this there, will you?” She nodded at the material she was holding against the wound.

Seymour moved forward and did as she asked. Julia could smell the stale alcohol on him; he must still have been drunk, she thought. No wonder he couldn’t shoot straight. It was all so unreal, she couldn’t even start feeling furious, and she mustn’t let herself till she’d got Edward safely to a hospital.

“No,” said Edward, suddenly opening his eyes and flinching, as Seymour pressed the makeshift bandage in place.

Julia held out the tea to him. “Ned. Never mind him; drink this. It’ll help.”

“Shame it’s not brandy,” said Seymour.

Julia turned her head to glare. “Better that it’s not, actually. Better you hadn’t had any earlier, either. Now, Ned, drink this. Please.”

Edward looked at her, the confusion fading out of his face, and let her hold the flask top filled with tea to his mouth.

“Darling,” said Julia, as he took a careful sip, “we have to get you help.”

Edward gripped her hand with his good one, giving a small nod. “Yes. Look, the road can’t be far off in that direction,” he said, speaking with an effort, but sounding calmer again. “There was a telephone box a little way along, just at the edge of the village. It won’t take long. You go, Julia.”

She opened her mouth to argue: it was one thing not to try and fight Seymour here and now, another thing to leave Edward to his mercy. “But –”

“It had best be you,” he said, squeezing her hand again. “I’ll be all right, Julia, I promise.”

Julia nodded, finally seeing his point: given the circumstances, Seymour might simply run off; he could trust her not to. And Seymour would only be in far worse trouble if he finished Edward off now, with Julia to tell everyone about it. Even so, she hesitated. Instinct screamed otherwise, whatever logic might suggest. “Yes,” she said, but didn’t yet move. She shifted her gaze to Seymour. “I won’t be long,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”

 

“I tried to tell you to go last night,” said Seymour, holding the bloodied petticoat against the wound. “You should have agreed.”

Edward found it required too much energy to say yet again that he had been sent here by Mr Morley, the Foreign Secretary, with business to conduct that had not yet been finished.

“I thought a near shot’d work as a warning – so you’d see how serious the bloody thing is. Oh, God, I don’t know; I wasn’t thinking straight. Still not sobered up from last night.”

Edward kept his eyes closed and pressed his head back against the rough surface of the tree trunk, wishing Seymour would go away, or at least shut up. “Yes, yes,” he muttered.

“I haven’t been sitting around plotting revenge since school,” Seymour went on. “Just that damned fellow knew a sight too much about certain things, and I had to go along with him for the moment.”

Edward bit back a sigh and opened his eyes. “One thing,” he said. “I don’t care what you intended or didn’t intend; you weren’t sober enough to shoot straight and you could just as easily have hit Julia. And that – that I can’t forgive.”

Seymour did, at last, shut up.

“It would be better if you went away,” Edward added. “I don’t think any of us want to try and explain this to the authorities. Just _go_.”

“I would, but you’re still bleeding. I’ll have to wait till Mrs Iveson returns.”

Edward struggled to make himself focus on something, and managed it. “Seymour. How the hell could Howe know? About you – me –”

“Beats me,” said James. “But, God, you know what school was like. Maybe you were oblivious; doesn’t mean everyone else was. I think Stevens used to work for Howe, you know. He was your friend, wasn’t he? Maybe one day he said something unwise over a glass of brandy or what have you. Somebody must have done, that’s all I know.”

“Not you?”

James grimaced. “No. Even in a different world, it’s not something I’d go round talking about it, is it?”

 

Julia hurried back through the trees, and, on reaching Edward, dropped to her knees beside him amidst the old leaves, heedless of her dignity. She took his good hand again. “There’s an ambulance on the way,” she told him breathlessly, with barely a glance for Seymour. “And Diana was at the house and she’s coming straight out here with Dr Soper. Everything will be all right.”

Edward blinked and seemed to take a moment to focus on her, and then he gave a slight nod. “Good.

Julia surveyed him with concern, thinking him even paler than when she had left him. Despite her success in calling for help, she couldn’t help but worry: what if they weren’t quick enough? What if it was worse than it seemed? She prayed under her breath: _God, you can’t take Edward away; you simply can’t._ Then she turned her head and said, “Mr Seymour, would you mind keeping an eye out for them by the road, so they don’t miss us?”

“Of course,” he said, and let her take the cloth back from him before hastening off.

Julia gave Edward a look that he missed, closing his eyes again, and causing the fear to immediately seize her again. “I’m fairly sure that’s not the standard procedure for dealing with the culprit of a failed murder attempt, but I suppose needs must!”

“It wasn’t a murder attempt,” said Edward. “I wouldn’t have sat here with him if it was.” 

Julia put her free hand to his face briefly and forced a smile. “Yes, well, I told you we shouldn’t come here. I told you nothing good could come of it, and I was right. I suppose I should have realised that you were so annoying at school that your former classmates are all out to shoot you.”

“Julia,” he said in faint protest.

She had to bite back tears. “You know I don’t mean it,” she said, failing in her effort at keeping up a stream of nonsense. “Oh, Ned, they’ll be here soon. The ambulance will take a while, but Diana and Dr Soper should be here any minute, and he can at least fix up a proper bandage.”

 

Dr Soper was less confident than Julia on the subject when he turned up. He was, as he reminded her, a Harley Street specialist, not a GP. “Let me see,” he said, Julia moving aside to let him take a look at Edward. “Hmm. Assuming all these years humouring the rich haven’t rendered me entirely useless, I should be able to at least fix you up for the journey.”

Julia had to help him with removing Edward’s shirt and was standing back out of the way again, when Diana came hurrying upwards from the road to tell them that the ambulance had arrived.

“Oh, thank goodness,” said Julia, letting Diana take her arm as the ambulance men got Edward onto a stretcher and carried him back down to the ambulance. Watching him go, Julia felt herself turn suddenly light-headed and queasy. Diana tightened her hold on her.

Julia breathed in and out. “I don’t think it’s very bad,” she said, as if Diana was the one worrying. “I’m sure he’ll be all right now.”

“No doubt of it,” said Diana. “Julia, darling, are _you_ all right -?”

Julia felt the nausea worsen and pulled away sharply, dropping to her knees to be sick at the foot of the nearest tree, hands buried in the dirt and years-worth of old leaves. She drew back, and then got shakily to her feet. “Sorry,” she said to Diana.

“Don’t be silly,” said Diana, handing over a handkerchief and leading Julia back down through the copse to the road, only to see the ambulance drive off.

Julia stared at it; she’d simply assumed that she would go with Edward and now found herself dazed and lost.

“Well, it’s good to know that they’re not wasting time in getting him to a doctor,” said Diana, slipping her arm through Julia’s again. “Come on. We’ll follow in the car. And it’ll give us a chance to pop back to the house and you can clean up.”

Julia felt herself moving only slowly, but she looked downwards and eventually took in her blood-stained state. “I suppose so,” she said. Diana was right, of course; but she wanted to lose no time, not pause to be sensible about everything.

“It’ll be as well to pick up a few of Edward’s things, too,” said Diana. “He’ll want his night-things, no doubt, and a tooth brush. Come on, my dear.”

 

At the hospital, they had to wait, Edward having been wheeled away to have the bullet removed as soon as was possible. Julia sat down next to Diana and couldn’t keep herself from alternately sighing and fidgeting, not feeling in the least bit patient. All she wanted was to see Edward again and know he was alive, and then she could settle to something.

“Are you all right?” Diana asked. “Let me get you some tea.”

Julia turned her head. “Yes, yes. I’m fine. And I couldn’t – I need to see Edward and then I can –”

“Well, that could be a while,” said Diana. “You should have something first. I know it isn’t any of my business, but you hardly want to waste the nurses’ time by passing out here, you know. You’re pregnant, aren’t you?”

Julia stared downward and nodded. Of course Edward would be all right, but she didn’t want to think about her pregnancy in conjunction with this; not with any possibility that Edward might die. It was worse than worrying it might all go wrong again.

“Come on, then,” said Diana. “We shall go and have some tea, and when we come back, you might be able to see Edward, you never know.”

“I can’t –”

Diana rose, holding out her hand as she turned back to Julia. “They said it would be at least an hour. Come on, now; be sensible.”

 

Edward was not fully conscious when Julia saw him again, but he had been cleaned up and properly bandaged and presumably no longer had a bullet lodged in his shoulder. He still looked fairly deathly in colour, but probably already slightly better than he had when she’d last seen him propped against the tree.

Julia sat down and watched in for a while, reassuring herself that he was still breathing, occasionally stirring slightly, turning towards her a little when she caught at his hand outside the worn hospital blanket.

“It’s all right,” she said, even as he stilled again. “I’m here. You’re safe now, Ned.”

She had to abide by the visiting hours, however, and that meant she had to return to the Howes’s without Edward. She squeezed his hand again before she left, saying goodbye, even if he seemed to be fully asleep again.

However, he startled her by moving his head and opening his eyes to look up at her, still drowsy. “Julia,” he said. “Don’t say – Seymour –”

“No, I know,” she said, leaning over as she rose, and kissing him gently on the forehead. “You just get better. I’ll be back as soon as they’ll let me, I promise.”

 

Seymour caught her outside the hospital; alone while she waited for Diana to return for her. He was at least sober by now, but that was all that could be said for him, and Julia backed away instinctively.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “but I have to tell you what happened.”

Julia raised an eyebrow. “I think you made that clear earlier, and I don’t want to hear any more, thank you. Edward doesn’t want me to say anything, but otherwise –” She hadn’t been thinking of it inside, with Edward; now, facing Seymour again, she felt positively murderous.

“Not the, er, the outcome,” Seymour said, with a wave of his hand, as if happening to accidentally shoot his former school-fellows wasn’t anything to worry about. “No. But I _told_ Iveson – I told him to go, but he’s still a stubborn sod and he wouldn’t. Howe wanted to ruin him – finish his career. Meant to use me, and I wasn’t in a position to argue. I thought a word with Iveson would scupper that, but no.”

Julia folded her arms against herself. “Yes, so you thought, jolly bad show, I’ll shoot the blighter instead?”

“He is all right, isn’t he?” said Seymour, which Julia thought was somewhat belated. “I mean, I assumed he must be –”

Julia swallowed. “So they tell me. Look, why don’t you go? Nobody’s going to want you here now, and I’ve half a mind to tell the police anyway, never mind what Edward says.”

“Yes,” said Seymour. “I’ve been working on a bolthole since I ran into that bastard. Howe, I mean. But, look, I’m in a mess regardless. If you need my testimony against him, you have it. For what it’s worth.”

Julia reminded herself to keep calm and breathe. “Thank you, although I’m not sure why, when Lord Howe didn’t try to kill anyone. And, honestly, I don’t understand any of this. Why would he try to ruin Edward? He doesn’t even know him and the whole thing is ridiculous. People simply don’t behave like this. It makes no sense.”

“He didn’t tell me that,” said Seymour. “All I can gather is he’s got some bee in his bonnet about Iveson – thinks he’ll do him no good if he rises in the party. He said it was old history, that was all.” He paused, and gave Julia a sharp look. “You know, he didn’t say much, but I got the impression it wasn’t to do with Iveson’s family so much as yours.”

Julia glanced away, thinking about Lord Howe talking to her about her mother. It still didn’t make any sense to her. There was only one thing to do, she decided. No matter how much she detested him, she was going to have to ring her Uncle Lionel. She might only send him Christmas cards under protest, but when it came to people taking pot-shots at Edward and plotting a scandal, then she’d do whatever it took to sort it out.

 

“Roddy Howe?” said Uncle Lionel as Julia huddled in the telephone box along the road. Diana was waiting in the car, rather bemused as to why Julia insisted on phoning from somewhere other than the house. Uncle Lionel had sounded genuinely pleased when he’d recognised her. She wasn’t at all sure how she felt about that. 

She concentrated on his voice; the line was bad. “Yes. Lord Howe.”

“Well, he’s an ass,” said her uncle. “Always has been. Jumped up little –”

Julia cut in, even though she agreed with him this once. “Yes, but why should some history of his with Mother or Father make him go so far just to keep Edward and me out of his way? It sounds silly to say it – but it’s almost as if he thinks we’re some sort of threat to him.”

“Ah,” said Uncle Lionel suddenly. “I might have an inkling, but I can’t be sure without asking some questions. I knew he had a hand in – well, never mind that, but perhaps there was more to it and the fellow’s suffering from a guilty conscience. Tends to make a chap jumpy.”

Julia blinked. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Give me a while,” he said. “I won’t say anything in case I’m wrong, but I’ll get back to you before tomorrow lunch time.”

Julia put the telephone down and thought, with a sinking heart, that tomorrow lunch time felt like forever away, and in the meantime, she had to stay in this house with Lord Howe who was the indirect cause of all this, and she couldn’t be with Edward. Even having Diana around couldn’t make it seem much better.

 

In the night, Julia turned in the bed, alone, and shivered. She knew that Edward ought to be all right now. The doctor had told her so, but he had looked so white when she had left him, falling in and out of consciousness, and the image remained lodged in her mind as she tried to sleep. She kept thinking of the rest of it, too – Edward quietly collapsing against that tree; Seymour with the gun. She buried her head further into the unfamiliar pillow, as if that might help shut out the memories. After all, she didn’t truly know what was happening to Edward right now. Sometimes unexpected things went wrong – complications, they always said. She didn’t _know_ he was out of danger, not for certain.

She shifted again, lying on her back and staring up at the ceiling in the dark, setting her mouth as she reclaimed a steel thread of determination. Whatever information she could get from Uncle Lionel, or maybe even from James Seymour, she would, and she would put a stop to these games of Lord Howe’s. He had, she decided, targeted the wrong one of them entirely and he’d understand that before she left this place.

 

Julia rang the hospital in the morning, to find out how Edward was. They said he was awake and doing well, which could only be a relief, but she disliked having to wait to see him. Even aside from the strict visiting hours, she was expecting a telephone call from her uncle.

Everyone else suddenly seemed to be treating her too carefully, lowering their voices to ask if she’d heard any news about Edward. It unnerved her, quite stupidly, as if they knew better than the hospital and Edward was worse, not better.

Eventually, she decided to go upstairs and pack, aided by Diana. Julia had come to the conclusion in the night that, whatever happened, she couldn’t stay at the Howes’s any longer and had booked herself in at the nearest hotel. There were limits, after all.

“You know,” said Diana, “that’s the third time you’ve started emptying the suitcase instead of putting things in it. Something tells me that your mind’s not on the job.”

Julia sat down on the bed and pulled a rueful face in Diana’s direction. “I am sorry. You’re a saint, helping me like this, when I know you’ve better things to be doing.”

“Nonsense,” said Diana. “I’ve escaped what promised to be a singularly tiresome meeting, that’s all. Now –”

They both turned on hearing a knock at the door. Julia stood as one of the maids looked in.

“Mrs Iveson,” she said. “You’re wanted on the telephone – we’ve put you through to the library so you’ll have a bit of peace.”

“Thank you,” said Julia, and walked downstairs. Uncle Lionel had better have found something she could use to beard the lion in his den. She wasn't sure she knew another way to end it, other than shooting Lord Howe and that, she knew, Edward would take exception to. Prison visiting hours were even more awkward than those of the hospital.

 

Julia had wondered if catching Lord Howe alone would be difficult, considering all the guests, but some of them had started to disperse and Lord Howe had had telephone calls to make, she was informed, so he was in his study.

She walked in without ceremony, or even pausing to knock and stopped in front of his desk. “I needed to speak to you.”

She wouldn’t use his title; she couldn’t any more. He hadn’t been the one who’d tried to shoot Edward, but he was ultimately to blame for this awful tangle, and he would happily have ruined both Edward and Julia simply to put them out of his sight. And as for the rest of it, for what her uncle had just informed her – Julia clenched her hands to stifle a tremor of rage that went through her. Besides, ruin and disgrace was enough to break some people, and who knew where that could end? Certainly, Lord Howe couldn’t, and that meant he was prepared to risk any consequences that might have come of his schemes.

“Mrs Iveson,” said Lord Howe, rising to greet her. “And I can see that you must have questions, but I assure you, I was not to blame for your husband’s unfortunate accident. I suggest that you –”

She raised her chin. “It’s not that I needed to discuss with you. Perhaps you realise, perhaps you don’t, but James Seymour was the one who shot Edward. You were the one who brought him here, and I know why now. I didn’t before, that’s the irony. Neither Edward nor I know a great deal about our parents, and we certainly had no idea that they had any history with you.”

“Yes,” he said slowly, sinking back into the chair. “Yes. I was beginning to realise that might be the case myself.”

Julia held onto her purpose, and to her anger. “You drove my mother out of this country, didn’t you?”

“No,” he said, disconcerted by something she’d said for the first time. He ran a hand through his hair. “It was not my intention, it was only – damnation! It was a matter of business. Your father always detested me, and I had the opportunity to undermine his company, so I did – played the market, bought up the shares. It is what one does.”

Julia gave a crooked smile. “Oh, yes. Of course it is. Except that my father died. Not directly your doing, naturally, but no doubt all the stress and worry of financial failure hastened the heart attack. It would be wonderful if it hadn’t. And then my mother –”

“She should have applied to me; she was meant to!” he snapped, standing again. “I had no intention of hurting her – I would never hurt Hanne.”

Julia couldn’t keep back a laugh, although not one containing much amusement. “But you did. She ran away from the situation, from the rest of Father’s family, and no doubt, from you, too. And it wasn’t just business, or not as I hear it. My uncle is looking into it and your actions were underhand – and illegal. You do anything to me or to Edward again – you so much as breathe one word of scandal, come near either of us, and we’ll drag you through the courts. Even Seymour says he’ll testify against you. So that'd be fraud and blackmail on top of the rest. I think we’d weather the business a lot easier than you. We've less to lose.”

“Yes, yes,” he said, as if more irritated than anything else. He pushed at the papers on his desk. “God, what a mess.”

Julia swallowed. “Well, who’s to blame for that?”

“I would have helped Hanne,” he said. “I hope you believe that. It was never meant to end as it did.”

Julia couldn’t let herself think too hard about that; about everything that had followed. She might be sick again. “No, but you’ll understand that I don’t think it had a very good start, and when you compound all that with trying to destroy Edward, you can keep your excuses. I don’t want to know what you thought you were doing – only that you’ll leave us alone from now on. In return, we’ll do the same for you. I suppose I ought to make you pay for it, but I’d rather never see you or think about it again.”

“Yes,” said Lord Howe.

Julia shot a glance at him, suddenly unsure as to his response, or what he might be planning, but he had closed his eyes. She began to realise that maybe he did mean what he said about Hanne. It didn’t justify anything.

“One last thing,” said Julia. “You implied that Edward’s father had something to do with this, too, and I don’t see how he could.”

Lord Howe looked up, raising his eyebrows in surprise. “John Iveson? Not this, but he knew your father well, and there was one occasion, early on in my career where, rather ironically, he quashed one of my schemes – not unlike you today. It is a funny old world, isn’t it?”

“Sometimes,” Julia said. “And sometimes it’s not very amusing at all, if you ask me.”

 

By the time Julia returned to the hospital, Edward was indeed awake and looking much more like himself, if still a little worn. She sat down beside him and felt, when she smiled at him, as if it had broken some façade, tears stinging her eyes. “Hello, darling.”

He gave a small, tired smile. “Well, there’s no need to look so sorry I’ve survived,” he murmured, putting out his good hand to her, and giving a slight nod.

She couldn’t laugh; she had to stop herself before she did cry at his beside, in front of everyone.

“I’m all right,” he said, watching her in mild bemusement. “Honestly. And, Julia – Seymour – Howe –” He stopped and leant back against the pillows.

Julia squeezed his hand. “There’s no need to worry about any of that. I’ve sorted everything out, I promise.”

Edward stared at her and then pulled himself up the bedstead so sharply that he clearly caused himself pain, stopping to wince. “Ow. Julia, what have you been doing?”

“Honestly, you could show a little more faith in me. Really, it’s all dealt with – I’m serious. Mr Seymour ran away after promising to give evidence against Lord Howe if it was needed,” said Julia. “So, you needn’t worry about him. I haven’t hunted him down in revenge or anything. And, as for Lord Howe, I telephoned my uncle and he delved into the past for me. It turns out that most of this has to do with my parents, not yours. I’ll explain a little more when you’re not here, but there we are. ”

“Your uncle?” was all Edward said, raising his eyebrows.

She raised her head. “Somebody _shot_ you,” she said, her voice not as steady as she had expected. She also saw him react, giving a slight flinch and realised that she should have avoided reminding him of it. He had seemed so very calm about it yesterday, but that, she supposed, had only been the shock, or necessity. “In those circumstances, I’ll even talk to Uncle Lionel.”

“Thank you.”

Julia reached his hand again, this time clasping it in both of hers. “Yes, well, do everything the doctor says, and then, as soon as I can, I’ll take you home.”

He smiled.

“And next time I hope you’ll listen to me about not going to stay with questionable people,” said Julia. “Or at the very least, please try something less drastic if you want to escape. I don’t think I could cope a third time.”

Edward’s smile grew, slowly, but he said nothing.

“What?” she said.

“Well, somehow,” he murmured, “I rather expect you _would_ , darling.”


	49. Feathers (PG, 1952: Edward Iveson/Julia Graves, Caroline Sheldon)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward is unreasonably reasonable, and Julia is a duck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> May 1952; Edward Iveson/Julia Graves, Caroline Sheldon. 
> 
> Prompts: White Chocolate #29 (levity) + Gummy Bunnies (also for Hurt/Comfort Bingo square “unwanted transformation”).
> 
> Notes/Warnings: pregnancy, fluff.

Julia put the telephone down and turned back to Edward, who was showing Caroline to the door. She had to swallow a sudden pang of irrational loneliness, maybe even jealousy. Must they stand in the doorway and talk, so close together? What was she saying to him?

Of course, she knew it was ridiculous: Edward didn’t even _like_ Caroline. It was only, Julia thought, biting back a sigh, she had been his wife, once, and knowing Edward, very likely his first real girlfriend, and Julia was currently feeling stupidly huge in the last stages of pregnancy – waddling about like a duck, as she kept complaining to herself – and would rather not have had Caroline there. She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ears, overheated and cross and ready to be unreasonable about anything, especially Caroline, who had had Edward first, when Julia couldn’t, and it wasn’t fair. It was even more unfair of her to visit right now. Edward didn’t have long before he had to go to Kent again – and Caroline had turned up before they’d barely spoken and Edward wouldn’t throw her out, like any rational person would; he had to stand there talking to her, wasting all their precious time together. 

“Hmph,” said Julia, and Edward, finally closing the door behind Caroline and turning to face her, raised an enquiring eyebrow.

“Julia? Is something wrong?”

She took that as her cue to explode. “Oh, no, nothing at all! You just stand there and talk to Caroline as if don’t even exist!”

“You were on the telephone,” he pointed out, keeping his tone carefully level and reasonable. It was maddening. She worked up further steam, her duck feathers badly ruffled.

“Just then,” she said, as if that was irrelevant. “What did you even have to let her in for? Oh, well, I don’t care. It’s not as if I wanted to see you, anyway! You get on off to Kent and stay as long as you like! Take Caroline with you if you want.”

“Julia –”

She glared. “Well, if you’re going to stand there, whispering secrets like that, making me feel –” She stopped, biting back hot, angry tears and swallowed. “I’ve just been stupid; so stupid.”

“Do you even mean any of that?” he asked, taking a wary step towards her.

Julia moved back sharply. Maybe she wasn’t a duck, after all, maybe she was a goose, feathers on end and ready to hiss. Why couldn’t Edward shout back at her like a normal person instead of standing around _humouring_ her in that insufferable way of his? “Yes, well, I know you don’t take me seriously, of course! And, I suppose, I can see that she would have to still mean something – I suppose she was your first –”

“Honestly, Julia!”

She raised her chin and struggled inadequately for more accusations to throw at him. “And,” she said, “I expect you had to sit around and do the research first!” 

He didn’t look angry yet; he merely looked bemused, leaning against the wall and surveying her as if she actually had transformed into some sort of strange creature.

“Oh, stop it!” she said. “Stop looking at me when I’m just a – a _duck_!”

Whatever Edward might have been going to say, that silenced him, and instead he slumped back further against the wall and laughed helplessly. Julia threw the telephone notepad at him and stormed somewhat awkwardly away up the stairs.

 

“If I may?” said Edward, arriving in the bedroom a few minutes later. He paused, and then sat down on the bed next to Julia. She was lying there with one of the pillows over her face, hiding her tears. “You know, I really hadn’t liked to mention the beak and the feathers, but since you bring it up –”

Julia gave another ‘hmph’ and removed the pillow, pulling herself up to give him a half-hearted glare. “Pig,” she said, but she gave way to a small laugh, despite herself, and wiped her eyes with her hand.

“And,” said Edward, encouraged enough to slide his arm around her, “for your information, what Caroline was saying to me in the hallway was – oh, I barely even recall. She wondered if I was taking proper care of you and recommended soup or broth or something. That’s all. And,” he added with a humorous quiver in his voice, as he tightened his hold on her, “you aren’t remotely like a duck, darling.”

Julia hesitated for a moment – hot, tired, and still cross – and then she sighed a little, leaning her head against his shoulder. “I feel like one – Jemima Puddleduck, waddling about.”

“Well, then, Jemima,” he said, pulling her in nearer, “as to the rest of your complaints, the first is none of your business, I think, and as to the second – well.” He put on his most serious expression, a sure warning that some sort of joke was imminent. “Have I never told you before about my grandfather’s collection of Victorian erotica?”

“Now you’re making things up.”

Edward grinned. “No. Word of honour! To the best of my knowledge they’re still in a trunk up in Aunt Daisy’s attic. Nancy and I found them one rainy summer when we were about eleven or twelve. As we’d read most of the other books in the house that weren’t textbooks, we set to work on them. We weren’t very impressed, I can tell you. I mean, some of them, we thought, weren’t too bad, if you skipped all the tiresome parts, but that was about as much as anyone could say. A couple of years later, we both had to find them again just to make sure we hadn’t imagined them.” He took her hand, distracted by the memory. “God, they were the most awful things I’ve ever read!”

“No, no,” said Julia, “I’m not being taken in by this. What on earth would your grandfather be doing with them anyway?”

“I think some elderly professor of literature or whatever it was, left them to Grandfather because the university wouldn’t take them. He said one day they would want them. As yet, nobody has ever asked for them, and they’re still up in the attic. Next time we visit Aunt Daisy, I’ll prove it to you.”

Julia shook her head at him and then twisted her hand in his, playing with his fingers.

“Of course, they were all a little too archaic and strange,” said Edward,” but what school gossip and questionable Victoriana didn’t provide, I had Aunt Daisy for. You can imagine how I felt on by lectured by her a week before the wedding –”

Julia turned. “Oh, now, I’m sure Aunt Daisy wouldn’t have –”

“Not the facts of life, no. She assumed I knew those, even if I don’t think she ever realised we’d been at Grandfather’s books. She did, however, feel the need to inform me that men were generally selfish and careless about these things and gave me a whole collection of instructive literature to read. So, I’m afraid you’re right, I can’t deny it; I did do the research, although in my defence, it wasn’t intentional.”

Julia let go of any residual annoyance and let him hold her as she laughed. “I wish you wouldn’t be so silly,” she said eventually. Then she bit her lip and glanced at him. “I suppose you have to go to Kent?”

“I won’t be too long,” he said. “Well – unless you think there’s reason for me to stay?”

“Sadly, no,” said Julia, and then felt cold. She wanted this over, more than anything, but that of course, meant there would be a child and she decided that she would no doubt be a terrible mother, or worse, something might go wrong again, and then –

Edward interrupted her dark thoughts, stroking her hair. “Julia. Are you sure you’re all right?”

She nodded and did her best to pull herself together. “Oh, yes. Just out of sorts yet again. I shall be fine – you get on and go before you miss the train.”

“Oh,” said Edward, “downstairs, on the table in the hall – Caroline left some things for you. A book and a box of chocolates. That was why she was here, you know.”

Julia sat up. “Oh!” she said. “Oh, no, that’s too unfair! Can’t I even be allowed to hate her in peace? Is that too much to ask for?”

“Apparently, it is,” said Edward. “Jemima.”


	50. On the Outside (PG, 1952: Edward Iveson/Julia Graves, Daisy Long, Nancy Long, Isabel Andrews)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s awful news on the radio, and nothing Julia can do but wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sept 1952. Julia Graves, Daisy Long, Nancy Long, Isabel Andrews, Edward Iveson, Mrs Crosbie.
> 
> Prompts: Cookies & Cream #9 (wait)
> 
> Notes/warnings: bombs/terrorism (off-screen), character death.

Julia heard it on the radio, the news bulletin interrupting her regular programme. She glanced over at the set in mild irritation, shifting her hold on her knitting as she did so, but as she took in what the newsreader was saying, she dropped the needles and wool heedless of being midway through a row and moved across to the radio. She turned up the volume and sat down beside it, her heart thudding in her chest. It was all too brief, however – nothing confirmed saving that there had been an explosion in Whitehall, at the Foreign Office. Evidently little more was yet known, although the newsreader blithely assured her that the Prime Minister had been elsewhere that morning before regular broadcasting was restored.

“But where exactly?” Julia asked the unresponsive wireless. “How much damage did it do?” The question that was on her mind before all else, of course, was where was Edward this morning? He could be anywhere, she reminded herself, and surely all of Whitehall couldn’t have been destroyed. But hadn’t he said something about being at the Foreign Office this morning? Or had he been meeting with the Foreign Secretary – or meeting with the Foreign Secretary at the Foreign Office? She couldn’t remember.

“Oh, damn,” said Julia, and cursed herself for being silly. Edward was bound to be all right and she shouldn’t panic before she knew anything concrete. She got up instead and hastened to the telephone to try and contact Edward’s office, but the operator couldn’t put her through – the lines were too busy.

Julia put the telephone down, wondering what to do next when she heard Emily crying, which solved that particular dilemma. She hastened upstairs to deal with her infant daughter. The Ivesons had a nanny, but she was on holiday this week, which Julia had felt mostly relieved about until now. Miss Leighton was very kind and had been helpful, especially during the last few months when Julia hadn’t been so well, but Julia never felt comfortable with other people in the house. She’d been planning to say to Edward that they hardly needed a nanny any more.

“It’s all right, darling,” she said, picking up Emily and setting about changing her nappy. “At least,” she added under her breath, “I hope so.”

She carried Emily back down the stairs, glancing hopefully at the phone as she passed it, but it remained silent. What could she do? She looked out of the window and contemplated going down there herself to find out what had happened but reluctantly had to dismiss that idea. Even if it was sensible, which it wasn’t, she couldn’t possibly set off into inevitable crowds and confusion with Emily in the pram. She must sit here and wait. Anyone who had news would try to contact her here and even if they couldn’t, if Edward was alive and well he would let her know as soon as he could.

Still, thought Julia, it was hard to wait passively when it was in her nature to be more active and practical. She bit back a sigh, and kissed Emily before letting her down to play with her wooden blocks on the floor of the living room and listened to the radio, hoping for more news.

She hadn’t been sitting there very long when the telephone rang and she leapt up, racing to the hallway. “Yes?” she said breathlessly, foregoing the number in her haste. Then, as she heard the voice on the other end, she closed her eyes. “Oh, Aunt Daisy. It’s you.”

“I’m sorry to bother you,” said Aunt Daisy, “but I just heard the news, and I wondered –”

Julia twisted the telephone wire around her fingers. “I heard it too, but I don’t know anything more yet. I’m sure Edward must be all right, though. I expect it isn’t even as bad as it sounded on the BBC, but I promise I’ll let you know as soon as I hear from him.”

“In that case,” said Aunt Daisy in her usual brisk fashion, “I’d better get off the line, hadn’t I?”

Julia opened her mouth to agree, but Aunt Daisy had already cut her off. How typical, she thought and replaced the receiver. Aunt Daisy was right, of course, but she felt all the more alone now that she’d gone.

 

The telephone rang again a few minutes later and Julia repeated her previous dash to answer it only to find that this time it was Edward’s cousin Amy, also wanting to know if Edward was there or if Julia had heard anything.

After that, nothing seemed to happen at all, except with Emily who wasn’t in the least bit aware of trouble with the government. She still rolled about on the carpet and threw her wooden bricks and wanted her dinner on time. Julia missed the news while she was feeding her and had to wait another half hour to hear the BBC confirm that there had been casualties, but the newsreader remained infuriatingly coy about everything else.

When the telephone finally rang again, Julia was slower to answer it, feeling sure that the longer it took to hear anything, the more likely it was to be bad news. She didn’t want to think about what she was going to do if Edward was dead or badly injured. She steeled herself before picking up the receiver. “Primrose Hill 8437, Julia speaking.”

“Julia,” said Nancy on the other end and Julia struggled not to laugh, even though it was rapidly ceasing to be funny. “Look, Julia – have you had any news?”

She leant against the wall. “Not really. Only what I’ve heard on the radio. I haven’t – I mean, Edward hasn’t called me yet.”

“Oh,” Nancy said, and then paused for a moment. “Now, please don’t panic, but there’s a rumour going round the hospital grapevine that – well, people seem to think that the Foreign Secretary has been injured in the blast. I don’t know if that’s true, but I suspect it might be.”

Julia glanced back in through the doorway, checking on Emily, trying not to think about the implications of Nancy’s words, but she couldn’t keep the fear from stealing over her; a creeping frost heading for her heart. “I hope not,” she said, a little too lightly, as if she hadn’t understood. “Poor Mr Morley.”

“It needn’t mean anything, of course,” said Nancy. “I’m going to see if I can find out more and in the meantime, I’m sending Isabel round. I’ll let you know if I hear even the slightest whisper.”

Julia pressed a hand against the raised patterns of the wallpaper, gold edgings on cream. “Thank you. And if I hear from Ned, I shall let you know, of course.”

“I wasn’t sure if I should ring or not,” said Nancy, suddenly sounding a good deal less like her usual business-like self. She was an awful lot like Aunt Daisy in many ways. “If I’ve alarmed you for nothing, feel free to kick me next to you see me, but I thought you’d want to know once it began to look as if it was true.”

“Yes, thank you,” Julia returned, rather mechanically and put the telephone down with a hand that was no longer steady. She leant back against the wall and pressed her fist against her mouth. Oh, what _had_ Edward told her he was doing today? Why hadn’t she paid any attention at breakfast? She’d been busy with Emily and hardly interested in meetings. 

She found herself pacing up and down the hallway without really registering when she’d started, and she gave herself a mental shake and went back into the living room. It was still only rumour, she thought, and even if Mr Morley had been hurt or killed, it didn’t mean anything had happened to Edward – and that might well be something that would prevent him leaving to get back to her.

There was a light knock at the door, and Julia turned sharply, although it wasn’t Edward, she could see that through the glass. Isabel, sent by Nancy, had arrived.

“Poor you,” Isabel said, as she stepped inside, pulling off her headscarf. She gave Julia a sympathetic smile and hugged her. “But, honestly, I don’t think you should worry too much yet. I think it’s rotten of Nancy to go telling you things like that when nobody knows anything for certain.”

Julia had to look down, feeling choked suddenly. “But why hasn’t Edward telephoned me?”

“I’m sure everybody must be trying to ring,” said Isabel, patting her arm. “Besides, if he was anywhere near, he might have had to go to hospital just to be checked over. If the worst had happened, you probably _would_ have heard, because they’d want you to know before hearing anything on the news.”

Julia closed her eyes, recognising the sense in that. “I’m sorry. I think I panicked rather after Nancy phoned.”

“Of course you did,” said Isabel. “Anyone would. I expect Nancy was, in her own way – why she couldn’t wait.”

Julia nodded, and led the way back into the sitting room before Emily managed to get into any trouble. “I just wish I was there and I could see what was happening!”

“Hmm,” said Isabel, wrinkling her brow in thought. “Is that daily help of yours due in?”

“Mrs Crosbie? Yes, any moment, I think.”

“Well, when she’s here, I could always go down and see if I can get near enough to find anything out. I should think they’ll probably be keeping everyone away, though. But I could try, and report back from a public telephone.”

 

Julia went upstairs to check on a sleeping Emily, standing quietly in the doorway and trying not to think beyond that. Mrs Crosbie was here and busy in the kitchen, while Isabel had gone out as promised and hadn’t yet rung the house. As Julia removed herself from Emily’s bedroom, she stopped in sudden alertness as she heard the front door open and shut. It didn’t occur to her that it could have been Mrs Crosbie, or even Isabel returning. She knew from the way it had opened and the small sounds of movement below in the hallway that it was Edward. She closed her eyes, sagging back against the door in momentary relief, before she ran down the stairs, halting at the bottom to see Edward’s coat and hat hanging up on the hook. She touched the coat lightly, fingers brushing the rough material, before hurrying across into the living room.

“Ned!” she said and lunged forward to catch hold of him, before standing back a little to examine him. He seemed to be unharmed, but there was a graze on his cheek and he’d lost something of his usual neatness, his hair a little dishevelled. “Are you all right? Why didn’t you telephone?”

He shook her off, almost absently, but it worried her. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t till now. Julia, I’m not hurt.”

“But where were you? What happened?” 

Edward gave her a hard look in return. “You needn’t pretend to be so concerned. I didn’t see you making any effort to find out! So much for love!”

“How _dare_ you?” Julia snapped, taken aback by the uncharacteristic accusation, his tone stinging her. She clenched her fists and glared. After the awful day she’d had, sitting here trapped in the agony of waiting, it wasn’t the greeting she felt she deserved. Still, she thought, swallowing back further outburst, it wasn’t at all like him. “Edward?”

“I’m sorry,” he said, angling himself away from her and putting a hand to his head, attempting to straighten his hair. “Crispin Morley is dead.”

Nancy’s warning might have made that announcement less unexpected, but it still hit Julia as a blow. Mr Morley and his wife Elaine had always been kind to both of them, even when Julia had only just met Edward in Paris. “Oh,” she said, forgetting her anger, and wanting to catch hold of him again, but she held back. “Oh, that’s terrible.”

“There was a bomb,” said Edward. “I wasn’t – I wasn’t in the building. I was running late – heading back in with a couple of others. That was when it happened. We got caught in the edge of the blast, but that was all.”

Julia put her hand to his arm. “I’m sorry, darling.”

“Yes,” he said, looking past her, although he did then blink and give her a smile. “I think I’d like to go for a walk – go up Primrose Hill – clear my head.”

Julia didn’t release him, only letting her hand fall to his wrist and tighten about it. “Wait. Why don’t you at least have a cup of tea or something first?”

“I had some,” he said. “At the hospital. Sandwiches too. I think.”

She would rather not have let him go, but it wasn’t as if he was likely to get into any difficulty walking about the neighbourhood. As he said, it might well help. She drew back with a nod, swallowing any too-obvious worry. “Yes,” she said. “Of course. I’ll see you again presently.”

She waited there until she had heard him leave again, and heaved a sigh, before remembering that he might as well take himself off, since now she had to ring round all his relations anyway. She made it to the telephone, but lost herself in a fit of abstraction, staring unseeing through the stained glass patterns on the front door until Mrs Crosbie poked her head round the kitchen door, startling her out of it.

“Was that Mr Iveson?”

“Yes,” said Julia, turning with a smile. “Yes, thank goodness. It’s all right, Mrs Crosbie.” She picked up the receiver and wished, even though it was only Mrs Crosbie, that there didn’t have to be other people in the house all the time.

 

It was nearly dinner time and Edward still hadn’t returned. Julia hesitated for a little while, but she had had more than her fill of waiting around for Edward for one day, so she begged Mrs Crosbie to stay a few minutes longer and keep an eye on Emily, and then hastened out after him, doing up her coat buttons as she stepped out onto the pavement. 

She headed up towards Primrose Hill, ignoring the fact that running after Edward was stupid and she was entirely likely to miss him on his way back – and that if there was anything wrong, he could have gone anywhere in London by now. She’d been shut up all day, however, and she realised that she, too, needed some air to blow the cobwebs away. And doing something, even if it wasn’t sensible, felt better than doing nothing.

She walked along the path through the park, looking carefully around her as she went for any sign of his familiar, tall figure. She had just begun to wonder if she should turn back, when she spied him, sitting on a bench under one of the trees. She didn’t stop to think about dignity, and hurried over, nearly slipping on the damp grass.

“Edward,” she said, reaching him. “You’ve been out here for ages – it’s almost dinner time! Well, no,” she said, glancing at her watch. “It’s gone past dinner time already.”

He looked up at her in surprise, but to her relief, he seemed to be a good deal more like himself. He gave her a quick nod, and got to his feet. “I suppose it must be,” he said. “I’m sorry. I think I was still in rather a daze when I left – and my watch seems to have stopped.”

“It doesn’t really matter,” Julia said, slipping her hand into his, grateful to feel him take hold of it in response. “Let’s go home.”

 

Edward wouldn’t talk about it at dinner, either; merely sliding away from the subject or ignoring her when she raised it, but otherwise he seemed much more himself. He watched her feeding Emily, who was feeling more than usually inclined to play games with her food until finally, he caught at Julia’s hand.

“Let me,” he said.

Julia stared for a minute, and then laughed, more in surprise than anything else. “Don’t be silly, I can manage.”

“I’ve finished my dinner and you’ve barely started,” said Edward, with a nod at her full plate.

Julia glanced downwards. “Oh, I’m not very hungry anyway.”

“That,” said Edward, “would be a shocking waste of good food and ration coupons and as a Member of Parliament, I don’t think I can approve.” He shifted across in time to stop Emily’s bowl landing on the floor again. “Besides,” he added, “Mrs Crosbie was already worrying that you hadn’t eaten anything all day when she left – and if you think young Miss Emily here will let you rest in peace for the night –”

Julia picked up her knife and fork and eyed her cottage pie without enthusiasm. “All these tiresome _people_ in the house, always interfering,” she said, but it was better to eat something than to risk having people fussing over her being ill again. She found, a few more mouthfuls in, that she did feel a good deal better, even if there was something unfairly double-edged about watching Edward help with Emily – a reminder of how things might have been, if they hadn’t been lucky today.

 

Even later, once she’d put Emily to bed, he still evaded the topic and even if she hadn’t thought it a little too soon to press him to talk about it, she wouldn’t have had the chance. The telephone kept ringing; this time not his relatives, but various government officials and members of parliament and the press. Julia offered to field them for him, but he shook his head.

When she came to say goodnight, he was still sitting in the study, frowning over some papers, although he didn’t seem to be actively doing anything with them.

“There can’t possibly be anything else that you can do today,” she said, putting her hand to his arm lightly. “Why don’t you leave it now?”

He turned with a rueful smile up at her. “True, but I’m waiting for Mr Harding to telephone again. Don’t worry – you go on up and I’ll follow once that’s done.”

 

Julia woke in the small hours only to find herself alone in the bed, and she sat up in abrupt alarm, only to register movement in the room – soft sounds, the creak of the floorboards and the shifting of the shadows – and then Edward climbed back into the bed and, after a pause, turned on the bedside lamp.

“No need to worry,” he said. “I couldn’t sleep and I heard Emily, so I thought I’d save you.”

Julia let herself fall back onto the pillows. “Oh.”

He hesitated again, as if about to say something, but then busied himself in pulling the covers back over them. He glanced over at her. “It’s probably going to be the end for us. They think there’ll be a vote of no confidence presently – and then an election, I expect.”

Julia hadn’t thought about that. The explosion had been bad enough. “Are you sure?”

“Everyone else seems to be,” said Edward. “It will cause something of a shake-up anyway. Crispin Morley wasn’t the only one who was killed or badly injured.”

Julia stretched out a hand to touch his sleeve. “I’m so sorry about Mr Morley. I liked him too.”

“I know,” said Edward as he turned out the light and lay back down. Then he added, his voice slightly muffled, “I should have been with him. I was running late – so was Cuthbertson – one of the private secretaries – that was the only reason we weren’t in there –”

Julia shook her head, although the movement was probably wasted in the gloom. “No, no.”

“I was meant to be in there.”

Julia moved nearer, touching his face with her fingers. “No, no, if Fate wants you, it gets you. So, you were meant to be late, to save you for me and Emily because we can’t do without you.” She had to blink away tears, but it didn’t matter, not in private between them.

“Don’t,” said Edward, sounding somewhat unsteady himself.

She pressed herself against him, half-laughing. “There’s no one else here to care, you know.”

“It’s not that,” he said. “Start talking like that and I don’t know if I can go in again in the morning. I keep thinking that I might not.”

Julia smiled through her tears, unseen in the darkness. “Well, it would be perfectly all right if you didn’t, darling. Except,” she said, not without regret, “you will. I know you will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I was initially looking into the sequence of events that might make history alternate, I found mention of a terrorist bomb planted in Whitehall in the 1950s that fortunately didn’t go off. In this AU, one did.


	51. The Past is Neither Dead Nor Distant (PG, 1954: Edward Iveson/Julia Graves)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julia doesn’t like strangers in the house (or mushroom soup), and Edward doesn’t want to talk about his mother. It all comes down to much the same thing, in the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1954; Edward Iveson/Julia Graves (& some family history).
> 
> Prompts: Papaya #4 (have it your way), Sangria #14 (Into each life some rain must fall) + Brownie + Gummy Bunnies square “lost childhood”.
> 
> Notes/Warnings: Parental abandonment, references to possible infidelity, loss. (The letters mentioned are those from _Wolves at the Door_.)

“Oh, Julia,” said Edward, poking his head round the door, having just returned from some meeting or other – Julia realised rather guiltily that she had barely the haziest idea of what it might have been. “Have you seen my reading glasses anywhere?”

She looked up at him from where she was sitting on the floor with Emily on her lap and frowned in thought for a moment. “On the bedside cabinet, perhaps? Edward –”

“You may be right,” he said, emerging fully into the room. “And I’m sorry – good afternoon, Julia, I should say.”

Julia smiled. “Oh, I’ll forgive you this once.” She didn’t tease him; holding back as she had something to ask him, something she wasn’t at all sure he would take well.

He hovered by the sofa, not quite staying, not quite going; watching her with Emily. “We really should see about finding another nanny.”

“No, we shouldn’t!” said Julia, instantly forgetting her question. She tightened her hold on Emily, causing her small daughter to protest. “Mrs Crosbie and I can manage perfectly, thank you.”

Edward perched on the arm of the sofa. “Julia, be sensible. You may think so, but what about Mrs Crosbie? It’s not as if she’s getting any younger, you know.”

Julia lifted her head, looking over at him with a sudden gleam of amusement in her face. She raised an eyebrow at him and then released Emily, their daughter wanting her freedom now. “Oh, darling, you should say that to her. _Exactly_ like that, especially the last part. Then we’ll never be able to employ any other help without mortally offending her.”

“It’s hardly an unreasonable question,” said Edward. “I know you have this odd dislike of having other people in the house, but I do think –”

Julia shook her head, cutting him short. “No, honestly, Ned, I mean it. Mrs Crosbie does most of the work, and I keep an eye on Emily, and it’s all fine. She was pleased, anyway – one of her ladies had died, and she’d just lost another who’d gone to live with her sister, so she wanted the extra hours. And that suits us all,” she finished, picking up Emily who’d fallen over. She kissed her daughter’s head, as Emily pulled at her hair. “Nice Nanny was one thing, but nobody wants another Cross Nanny.”

“Really, Julia!”

Julia glanced up, unsure what it was she’d said this time. “The point is that everything is fine as it as. And it’s not an odd dislike, it’s only –” She stopped and waved a hand vaguely, as Emily set off toddling again. Then she shrugged, and merely said, cryptically, “Cream of mushroom soup.”

“Am I supposed to know what that means?”

She shook her head. “I’d be very surprised if you did. Perhaps, one day I shall explain. In the meantime, don’t tell me that it isn’t much nicer sitting here like this, with no threat of Cross Nanny coming in and telling us all off.”

“Julia, you can’t keep referring to Miss Armitage in that ridiculous way!”

“I shall call her what I like,” said Julia. “Honestly, Ned, she just waltzed in and positively _snatched_ Emily from Aunt Daisy that day! Don’t you try to tell me you wouldn’t have done exactly the same thing. And isn’t it so much nicer now? I know you worry, but it’s been nearly two years and there’s not the least need.”

Edward didn’t answer, having been distracted by Emily, who’d made it over to the sofa and wanted his attention. Julia brushed down her skirt, now crumpled and with some sticky fingerprints on it, and then watched them with a smile, before she remembered what she was supposed to be saying. She hesitated a little while longer, not wanting to spoil the moment, but it couldn’t wait forever.

“Edward, I have to tell you something,” she said, as soon as Emily had moved away to play with her coloured bricks. “Oh, Emily, don’t throw them! That’s better.”

Edward came over to join them. “Tell me what?”

“The thing is,” said Julia, hurried and breathless, “I went to Mr Taylor’s funeral this morning. Your – your stepfather, I mean.” She watched him and saw his face turn carefully blank. “While I was there, I spoke to his housekeeper, and the thing is –”

“ _Why_?” Edward said, and he was very still suddenly, looking at her hard. “Julia?”

Julia didn’t answer the question, determined to get to the end of her sentence first. “I was saying I spoke to the housekeeper – Mrs Welland. Well, actually, she was the one who cornered me as soon as she realised who I was –”

Edward had been holding a couple of envelopes in his hand, bills he must have picked up in the hallway on his way in. Now he was gripping them so tightly, he was crumpling them. He paused to glance down, as if surprised to find them there, and threw them onto the coffee table out of the way. “Julia,” he said again. “Why were you there? You know that I never wanted anything to do with that man again. You had no business being there.”

“Please let me tell you what she said,” Julia continued, clenching her hands into fists, because she disliked him being quite so accusatory towards her. “She wanted me to talk to you, to ask you to come over. She says there are still a lot of your mother’s things in the house and his family don’t want them – certainly not odd things like photographs, that sort of thing. She says there are some pieces of jewellery, too, that were definitely hers.”

“Oh, is that what you were after?” he snapped. “Well, I doubt it would be worth your while! How _could_ you, Julia?”

She flinched, growing angry despite her resolution to keep her temper, though she didn’t dignify that particular insult with an answer. “There’s very little left on my side of the family – all I have are a handful of photographs that I had with me at school, and that old necklace of Mother’s she let me have for luck before she left. I thought perhaps it might be nice to have some things for Emily one of these days when she’s old enough to ask. Besides, even if you’re not interested, you ought to remember that the rest of the family might be – Aunt Daisy, your cousins, even Uncle Ted. I think, from the things they’ve said, that they would be very happy to have something to remember her by.”

“How did you know?” said Edward, barely taking any note of her careful reasoning. “How did you even know he’d died? Don’t tell me you saw it in the paper, not with a common name like Taylor! Somebody told you, didn’t they? Come on, Julia!”

Julia coloured, since she’d been hoping to avoid explaining that part. She didn’t answer him directly; she ploughed on, trying to finish her tale. “So, I think you _ought_ to speak to her – Mrs Welland, I mean. She was very anxious that you should.”

“I’d like to know who told you!”

Julia had to take hold of Emily, who was on the point of crying now, upset by his obvious anger. “Shh,” she said, letting it double up for both of them. “Keep your voice down, Edward. And if you really must know, it was Aunt Daisy. She telephoned and asked me to go.”

“Well, she’s got no right to interfere,” said Edward. He walked sharply away. “I have no intention of setting foot in that house again, even if he is dead! My God, she should know when to leave something alone.”

Julia quietened Emily and wished herself that Aunt Daisy hadn’t brought her into this. “She asked me, Edward. It was her sister, after all. She said to find out what had happened to her belongings, because –”

“As if Aunt Daisy cares about _things_!”

“I don’t see why she should lie to me,” said Julia, nettled. “If she has some ulterior motive, well, that’s between the two of you – but, Edward, _don’t_ say anything to her now, when you know she isn’t that well.”

“I won’t,” he said. He sounded a little calmer, but she wasn’t sure he could be, not yet. “I still don’t see any reason to go back to that house. If Aunt Daisy wants something, then ask her what it was, and you can go. It’s nothing to do with me.”

Julia had to bite back an instinct to tell him not to be so silly – of course it was to do with him, whether he liked it or not – but she managed to stop herself. “Mrs Welland really did want to speak to you. If you don’t go, she may telephone you anyway. Edward, please at least think about it.”

“Do excuse me,” was all he said, however, and left the room, wrapped in an impenetrable politeness.

Julia sighed to herself and kissed Emily’s head again, as her small daughter started to cry. “Yes, darling, I know,” she said under her breath, and wished again that Edward and Aunt Daisy could have worked this out between them without dragging her into it. Aunt Daisy’s phone call hadn’t been a great deal more rational than Edward’s reaction, either. (“You’ll go, won’t you?” Aunt Daisy had said. “I’m sorry I can’t, but on the other hand, you’ve a good deal more tact and I can trust you to make enquiries without offending anyone. I’m not sure I would.”

“I’ll do my best,” Julia had promised. “Although I can hardly see you making a scene at a funeral.”

“At _that_ funeral I might. You know, one of my few regrets in life is that I didn’t kill that man when I had the chance.”

Julia had raised her eyebrows on the other end of the line, and also reflected on the fact that when Edward and Aunt Daisy spoke of his stepfather, they both used the same phrase, with implied capitals: That Man. She supposed she couldn’t blame them. She’d started to laugh, but Aunt Daisy had cut her off.

“You don’t think I’m serious, do you? Well, maybe not, but there was a time when I certainly felt like it. It’s probably only due to the fact that there were no weapons to hand that I walked out of there without committing violence. And ever since I’ve wondered if it might have been better if I had.”

Julia had raised her eyebrows still higher, and managed, “It would have been rather a scandal, you know – to say the least!” Aunt Daisy hadn’t sounded entirely convinced, leaving Julia more curious than she could admit to over what on earth must have happened.) 

Julia’s own thoughts on the matter were that it all sounded very sad, but she couldn’t help feeling sceptical about Edward’s mother as well as Mr Taylor. It wasn’t as if she’d been locked up, she thought, and nobody had forced her to marry Mr Taylor, even though she had, as far as Julia could glean from what the rest of the family would tell her, known already that he didn’t want Edward around. Julia couldn’t imagine ever agreeing to marry someone under those conditions; nor, she thought, would anything short of being locked up keep her away from Emily. And she was biased, of course. She had never met Edward’s mother, and while she said nothing, deferring to the people had had known her, she could hardly feel anything for her other than anger at the way she’d hurt Edward, whatever her reasons had been.

 

Once Edward had calmed down, he condescended to ring Mrs Welland and arrange to go round to see her, as Julia had hoped he would. He did it with such a bad grace, however, that she refrained from making any further comments. She knew he was still angry with her, though he tried to mask it. She knew his moods too well by now to miss the way he strategically hid himself behind the newspaper at breakfast to avoid talking to her, and suddenly found the need to work anywhere other than his study. 

Julia merely pretended for the moment that she didn’t notice, and hoped that he’d manage to get over her interference after he’d been to the house. He had occasionally mentioned his mother or his stepfather, but never in any detail, and she had felt instinctively even early on that it was something he must tell her one day if he would, not something she could ask from him. She could understand it, at least to some extent. Her family history was nothing like as complicated, but there were things she avoided telling him, too.

 

She was out when he returned, having taken Emily out for a walk, and hadn’t even realised he was back until after she’d put Emily down for her nap. She saw his hat and coat hanging in the hallway when she came back downstairs, and stopped, listening for him in the house, but it still felt too quiet.

“Edward?” she called out in the hallway, having failed to find him in the study or the living room, but he gave no answer. Julia frowned and paused to tap her fingers along the banister, beginning to feel worried as she made her way upstairs again, and found him in the bedroom, scowling over a pile of old letters lying on the bedcovers.

“Ned,” said Julia. “What are you doing?”

He gestured at the letters, but she couldn’t read his expression or understand what it was she was supposed to be seeing. She crossed over, and sat down on the other side of the bed, and leaned over to look.

“ _Oh_ ,” she said, touching the nearest. They were letters from Edward to his mother, and no doubt that must be an eerie thing to read again, but it didn’t seem to account for the strangeness of his mood. “Your mother kept your letters all this time? I suppose she might, but I don’t see –”

Edward shook his head, interrupting her. “No, no, she didn’t,” he said. “Or, at least, yes, some of them – those are over there in the box with the other things.”

“I don’t understand,” Julia said. She checked the nearest letter again, not reading it, but the signature, to make sure that she hadn’t misread his name.

“Neither do I,” said Edward. “You know, I wondered about this before – I finally went to see her during the war, and she said something odd about never having received the wedding invitation. It crossed my mind then, but I told myself not to be so suspicious – after all, things do go missing in the post every day, and anything else would be too much like some Victorian melodrama.”

Julia finally comprehended what she was looking at, and with it, the strangeness of his mood. She found it as hard to swallow as he evidently had, though. “Mr Taylor kept these from your mother?”

“It seems so,” he said. “I don’t understand it myself. Not that I would ever take your letters, but I would assume that if one did, one would burn them, but it seems he kept them in the back of the wardrobe.”

Julia gave a slight shrug. “Maybe he could justify hiding them to himself, but not destroying them. People are very odd sometimes, and he certainly sounds as if he was odder than most.”

“I brought the box up to show you,” he said, still paying more attention to the letters than to her. “I meant to burn these myself, but I couldn’t quite. I don’t know why – as if they’re evidence against him, when it’s much too late.”

She couldn’t ever remember seeing him like this before. She wanted to reach out to him, to hold him, but she held back, unsure what his reaction would be if she did. “Ned.”

“I’d like to kill him,” he said, pale and taut with some unidentifiable emotion.

Julia couldn’t help a slight laugh; it escaped her before she could stop it. When he shot her a startled look, she leant forward, and said gently, “I’m sorry – don’t be angry again. It’s just that Aunt Daisy said almost exactly the same thing.” And, she thought, they were both about the last people she could imagine ever trying to murder someone.

He merely looked at her, his face blank, as if he couldn’t quite take in her words.

“Not that I blame you,” Julia said, putting a hand on his arm. “I should think anyone would feel that way after finding out something like this! But you can’t, you know, not now. It’s much too late, and, anyway, I really couldn’t have you being arrested for murder.”

Edward gave an unwilling laugh, which seemed to break his odd mood, and he put his hand to her face lightly, and she took that as an encouragement, putting her arms around him, and feeling something like a small tremor pass through him as he held onto her in return. She closed her eyes, saying nothing, threading her fingers through his hair.

“I always wondered,” he said, drawing away from her, but kissing her briefly on the side of her head as he did so. Then he stopped, and gave a slight sigh. “Well, I don’t suppose I can ever be sure, not even given this. It doesn’t matter now, does it?”

Julia leant against him. “No, tell me, please. Whatever it is.”

He took her hand. “I suppose – you see, logically, one has to assume – either she let me down, or I let her down.”

“But you were only a boy when she married him,” said Julia. “You can’t blame yourself.”

Edward shut his eyes momentarily. “Oh, at the start, yes. But later on –” He stopped again, and she played with his hand. “I let things go for years, never even trying to visit her, all because –” He halted once more, and shrugged this time. “I despise myself.”

“But what _could_ you have done?” said Julia. “It wasn’t only you, was it? Aunt Daisy, Uncle Ted – nobody else could do anything, either. Sometimes you simply can’t, and especially not when you don’t really know what the situation was.”

Edward looked away. “Still. I could have done what I did do in the end, and _visit_. God, Julia, you’ve no idea how nearly I didn’t go at all.”

She didn’t try to argue again, only stayed where she was for a while, until eventually, she broke the silence by saying, “Well, I think you can ask me about the mushroom soup now.”

Edward shifted in surprise, turning to look at her. “What on earth –?”

“Or why I really don’t want another Cross Nanny,” said Julia. “If you like.”

He gave a slight smile, still watching her quizzically, one eyebrow raised. “Very well, then. Why?”

“Because,” she said, after a short hesitation, mostly trying to think how to explain it before she tried his patience too far, but also out of the same fear that had kept her silent until now, “when Father was alive and Mother was busy being the life and soul of Society, our family wasn’t really the way it must have looked from the outside. I don’t know what was wrong, but our fortunes were always so up and down. Perhaps I’m exaggerating how often or how much in my memory, but one day we’d have everything, and a house full of servants – well, those that stayed despite Father’s temper – and the three of us with a governess, and then the next suddenly everyone would be gone and we’d have to be careful about everything, and Rudy and I would be sent to local school for a while till things evened out again. We didn’t mind that so much, but it meant that the household changed several times over – people never stayed. And I hated it – always different people in the house, listening to us, disapproving of us, and Father and Mother keeping up a façade for them all.”

Julia paused to glance at Edward, but he still only looked a little puzzled rather than annoyed by this strange digression from his problems. 

“You said something about that once before,” was all he said. “I suppose I can see it would have been disconcerting for you.” 

Julia gave a smile. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realise how silly all this was going to sound. It’s just that – it isn’t silly when you’re small, is it? And then it stays with you. That’s not the point, though – bear with me.”

“No, no,” he said, shifting his position on the bed. “Carry on.”

“Well, once after we’d returned to normal, we had a new cook and a new maid, and Mother was giving a dinner – that’s where the mushroom soup comes into it – cream of mushroom soup,” Julia added, there being in her mind an irrational world of difference between that and other types of mushroom soup. “You see, my brother Christy liked to make up lurid tales, and Rudy and I always fell for them. You’d think we’d learn, but we never did. He told us that the new cook was a murderer who was going to poison us all – maybe he thought it was funny, maybe he thought we’d leave more helpings for him. And I already hated that new maid for some reason – I don’t remember why. I suppose she scolded me for something – probably deserved, but whatever it was, I was scared of her. I used to hide if I saw her coming. I had it fixed in my head she was going to do something awful to me.” She paused for breath again, feeling more foolish than ever and wishing she hadn’t started this. “Well, there I was, frightened of the maid, and even more terrified of the soup, thanks to Christy, and with all those people there, I couldn’t possibly explain. I had to eat it, of course, but I ended up running away from the table, and being sick in the garden. I was too embarrassed to come back in, and stayed out there crying till Mother came to find me. So, you see, the two things are all tangled together in my mind – strangers in the house and that awful dinner with the soup – and I don’t care to think about either of them.”

Edward was still watching her, his brow furrowed with bemusement. “Julia –”

“Yes, I’m sorry,” said Julia, colouring at how odd it must have sounded in this context. “I wasn’t meaning to say that it was the same thing at all, only to try and explain – and that I never did before, partly because I hate to bring back the feeling of that moment, and partly –” She halted, with an involuntary glance at the letters, which must have done a similar thing for him, taking him sharply back to a time he would prefer to forget.

He waited, and then, somewhat to her surprise, considering, said, “And partly because of –?”

“I don’t know,” she said, feeling her heart beating harder and herself unsteady at trying to say all this aloud, to him. “No, I do. I mean, because it’s all tied up with the things that I don’t know. You see, looking back, I wonder what my parents’ marriage was like. And the things is, even though I know that Father had a temper and that he could be beastly to Christy sometimes, he was never like that with me. He’d bring me little presents – ribbons and sweets and things – and take me with him to the printer’s sometimes, and they’d treat me like a mascot down there, and I’m afraid I loved all the attention.”

Edward put a hand up to her face. “Oh,” he said, evidently beginning to comprehend what she was trying to say.

“Yes,” she said, leaning against him. “Mother always had so many admirers – and I know it doesn’t really matter, not now anyway, but I didn’t want to think that maybe – maybe she’d had affairs – that maybe they hadn’t been happy. And I always avoided telling you any of that, because your family knew mine. I thought you might easily _know_ and I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear the answer.”

He shook his head. “Julia, no. My Aunt Anne certainly knew your people, and I believe my parents did, too, but it was never a very close acquaintance. If it helps, certainly I don’t recall ever hearing any such gossip.”

“But then,” said Julia, with a short, affectionate smile, “you probably wouldn’t have, would you?”

“Maybe not. But, Julia, I think you’d have known if there was someone, looking back. That you don’t suggests to me that there wasn’t.”

She took his hand. “I tell myself that, but it’s so impossible to be sure, isn’t it? There were always so many people around – and then, later, I was away at school. How would I know? I don’t think so, but maybe that’s just me being naïve – or wanting to think of her as I did then, almost like some sort of fairy queen in a story.”

“You know,” said Edward carefully, “it may be that you were more unsettled when your parents argued than they were. It doesn’t mean very much with some people – with most of us – but a child doesn’t necessarily know that.”

Julia smiled. She hadn’t ever considered the matter from that angle, and it could easily be true. “Maybe you’re right.” She certainly didn’t mean much of what she said in an argument; maybe she wasn’t so very unlike her parents. She stole a sidelong glance at him, wondering if that was what he’d meant, if he was teasing her with a stealth insult, but he wasn’t looking at her. As she did, it struck her that maybe it was easier to understand this business with Edward’s mother if she thought of it that way round; that maybe the two of them were alike. What if Caroline had come back to him at the start and they’d tried to put work things through? If he’d wound up in a functional but effectively loveless marriage, what would Edward ever say on the subject to anyone else? _Nothing_ , she thought, _nothing at all_. For the first time, she could contemplate her unknown mother-in-law with the beginnings of some sympathy.

It was all speculation, though, she reminded herself, and as such ultimately pointless. She straightened herself and returned to her point: “Still, that’s the thing, isn’t it? I can’t ever really know if that’s true or not, and you can’t ever know exactly what happened with your mother, either.”

“At the moment,” he said, tensing again, “I think I have a pretty good idea.”

Julia shook her head, and tightened her hold on his hand. “The thing is, while it’s not that it doesn’t matter, I know, what’s important is here and now, what we have – you and me and Emily. We can’t fix the past, or bring it back, or change it, either of us, so it’s now that we have to focus on, not then.”

“Yes,” he said, but he hadn’t relaxed again.

Julia turned her head. “Anyway, you said you wanted to burn the letters. Would you like me to do it for you? Or put them away somewhere you don’t have to look at them, in case you change your mind?”

“Yes,” he said. “Thank you. The latter, perhaps. I don’t suppose I’m being entirely rational about it just now.”

“I won’t read them,” Julia said, and then instantly broke her promise in the process of gathering them up, as the words leapt out at her from the topmost letter. She glanced over at him, raising an eyebrow. “You know, Edward, I find it hard to believe your school was actually invaded by a pack of hungry wolves.”

Edward stared. “What?”

“Well, I was trying not to look, but it’s right here at the top of this one.” She passed it over, careful this time to semi-fold the others in her hands, so no other words from the past escaped. “According to you, they ate the mathematics master.”

He shook his head, not taking the paper, and then putting a hand up towards his mouth, as if amused or embarrassed. “Ah,” he said. “Well, I never did like him much. And, of course not, Julia. It was only made up.” He shrugged. “There were reasons – I was twelve. Please, will you put them away somewhere?”

“Consider it done,” said Julia. “And, Edward, I am sorry about the business with Aunt Daisy, but, honestly, I didn’t see how I could refuse.”

Edward shrugged. “Oh, well, Aunt Daisy is always right; what can one do?”

Julia wasn’t sure whether that meant she was forgiven or not, but she decided to assume that she was, more or less. “It wasn’t fair, though,” she said. “I should at least have told you. And neither is this. You’re right; it isn’t something that should have actually happened.”

“Well, nobody died,” he said. “Not then, at least. Not like your family.”

She put the letters down on the bedside cabinet, and sat back down on the bed beside him. “If that made everything all right, then you wouldn’t have minded going back to that house, and you wouldn’t be troubled by these old letters.”

“If you want to read them,” said Edward, suddenly sounding weary, “you may. There’s nothing in them, not really. And as you say, it doesn’t matter. Now is what matters.”

“I didn’t say it didn’t matter. I would never say that. I said that now is what’s important.”

He kissed her, and nice as that was, she felt as if it was almost a dismissal. She wouldn’t let it be, digging her fingers into his jacket, not releasing him, though he drew back slightly, before he relented, and leant in against her.

“And,” she said, keeping hold of him, “to go back to my other point, don’t pretend that you would want Cr – Miss Armitage walking in now any more than I would. Probably to tell me that Emily has been sleeping for two minutes longer than she should and that I don’t look after her properly.”

“Julia! I’ve already said – as long as you and Mrs Crosbie are happy with the current arrangements, I’m certainly not going to interfere.”

She kissed him again. “Admit it, Ned, you didn’t like her any more than I did.”

“I don’t believe that I saw enough of her to offer an opinion.”

“Oh, no,” said Julia, “don’t you bring your evasive politician’s answers home to me.”

Edward said, “If you must, then, I suppose I didn’t. And I know you’re only trying to distract me. Julia, I assure you, there’s no need.”

“All this time,” said Julia, “and you don’t think I’m capable of being exactly this unreasonable?”


	52. Summer Term Blues (PG, 1954/1925:  Edward Iveson, Elizabeth Iveson, Nancy Long, Ted Long, Julia Graves)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward would rather avoid revisiting this particular time in his past, but it won't seem to go away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1954/1925; Edward Iveson, Elizabeth Iveson, Nancy Long, Ted Long, Julia Graves. Remix (Cookie Crumbs) of _The Past Is Neither Dead Nor Distant_ , for the Summer Challenge (2015). Takes place at the same time as the previous piece with flashbacks to Edward's school days.
> 
> Prompts: White Chocolate #13 (bitterness), Sangria #15 (After such knowledge, what forgiveness?), Prune #23 (more than meets the eye) + Brownie + Cookie Crumbs + Whipped Cream
> 
> Notes/warnings: Parental abandonment, loss.

Edward brought the car to an uncharacteristically careless and abrupt stop outside his destination. He shut off the engine, but remained sitting there, avoiding looking at the building, a late-Victorian detached house, red brick with bottle-green edgings, hedged in and dark. He stared ahead at the road instead, tapping the wheel. He’d sworn to himself never to come here again, and he hadn’t expected that to be a difficult promise to keep – what the hell would ever bring him back?

He put a hand up to his forehead and let out a minute sigh. There was no escaping this, he knew, so he might as well get it over with. Waiting out here wasn’t going to make anything any better. He took hold of himself, and got out of the car, heading up the driveway, unable to help feeling an unwelcome sense of _déjà vu_. It looked all too similar to the last time he’d been here; the day that his mother had died.

Mrs Welland opened the door. She didn’t look very different, either, only a few more grey hairs here and there. And though she smiled at him, he was oddly reassured to see her stifle a fleeting look of dismay: the last time she’d seen him had been that same day.

“Mr Iveson,” she said, sounding cheerful enough now as she ushered him into the dark hallway. “I’m so glad you came. I wouldn’t have liked to throw those things away – I’m sure she would have wanted you to have them.”

Edward didn’t know how to respond to that; forcibly reminding himself that she was trying to be kind, and stifling the spark of anger at what he instinctively wanted to call interference. “Thank you,” he said shortly, and followed her up the stairs and across the landing into the bedroom, much as he’d done seven years before.

This time, however, the room was empty, stripped of all but its bare essentials. The bed remained and the wardrobe; everything else had already gone. There was a box on the bed, but nothing else. He felt unexpectedly as if someone had somehow robbed him of something. He’d seen his mother die, but nothing brought it home like coming back to find her not here.

“You know how it was,” said Mrs Welland, “with Mr Taylor and your mother, I should say.”

He clenched his fists behind his back. “Yes,” he said, though he wanted to say that, no, he _didn’t_ ; he only wished that he did.

“Well, I came late to the household,” she continued. “I don’t know what went on before. And he was always as nice as ninepence in most things, and to her as much as to anyone, but then you’d come up against one of his odd little quirks, and that would be that. I wanted you to know that I never saw anything – nothing to comment on, if you know what I mean.”

Edward realised that she was trying to tell him something and he forced himself to listen, though he couldn’t see what, and he wished she wouldn’t. “None of it was your fault. I’m still grateful to you for telling me what was wrong.” If she hadn’t, he thought, he might have still been waiting for a better time to call when his mother was dead.

“I could hardly do anything else, now, could I?” said Mrs Welland. “She was asking for you. But what I wanted to say is that if I’d seen anything wrong, you know, I’d have said. I’d have done something.”

He tried to be patient. “I don’t doubt it. We all found the situation peculiar, but Mother would never say a word, and what could the rest of us do? Now, I take it the items you were talking about are in the box, yes?”

“Yes, yes, of course,” she said. “It’s just that there’s something else. I’ve been wondering ever since I found it what I should do, because I don’t know what went on, not really. And it’s not as if the dead can defend themselves, is it? But I thought it wasn’t my place _not_ to tell you, either.”

Edward stared back at her, lost now as to where this was going. She produced a large, slightly battered envelope from the box and handed it to him with strange solemnity.

“When they were going through his things, they found that in the back of the wardrobe. I suppose it could have been there for all sorts of reasons, but it must have been in there for years – and you can see what it looks like.”

Edward couldn’t yet; it was merely an old brown envelope, but he opened it, pulling out a handful of old letters. It took him a moment longer before he registered, with another jolt of shock, his own childish handwriting.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “It does look like he must have kept them from her, doesn’t it? It’s a bit hard to imagine him hiding them in there for any other reason. Well, unless he confiscated them later, I suppose.”

Edward sat on the bed in a daze, still looking down at the letters in his hand and barely registering that she was still talking. The topmost was nearly twenty years old; from the spring term of 1925. He could remember, after being sent to his Aunt again at Christmas, he’d been angry. He’d written his mother short, stiff little missives under protest, until they were in the second half of the term, and then he’d instead started asking and finally begging to go to her for the Easter holidays. With the words in front of him again like this, he could see it again vividly: sitting at a desk in the form room, as everyone wrote their Sunday letters home. He was hardly aware of them; all his focus on the words he was writing, pressing the paper too hard with the nib of the pen in his earnestness, promising that he’d be as quiet as they wanted, that he had plenty of school work to do, they’d hardly know he was there –

He closed his eyes, and pushed the letters back into the envelope.

“Mr Iveson?” Mrs Welland said, sounding worried and he wondered how long he’d been ignoring her. “You’re all right aren’t you? Oh, I _am_ sorry. Maybe I should have thrown them away and let it go, but it didn’t seem right.”

He shook himself. “Yes, yes, of course. It’s only that I wasn’t expecting this.”

“Of course you weren’t. Anyway, best put them away for now, and I’ll make us a cup of tea.”

Edward stood. “No, no,” he said, putting the envelope into the box, and picking it up. “It’s very kind of you to offer, but I can’t stay.” Then he looked at her and decided that she deserved a little more honesty from him. “Or I’d rather not. I hope you can understand that. It’s nice to see you again, but not this house – not here.”

She hesitated and then put a hand to his arm briefly. “Of course. Look, Mr Iveson, it’s none of my business, and, as you’ve said, she wasn’t the sort to talk much, not about private things, but whatever went on, she did love you, you know. There were little things she did say – at the end, especially – it was clear as day.”

He could only nod. It seemed to him now that he had always known that, and it didn’t make anything better. What had happened in the beginning, he didn’t know, but after her failure to come to his wedding, he’d taken that as some sort of permission to be angry – to blame her. He’d spent years not bothering to do more than write the odd letter or card, if even that. And the truth was, half of that had not even been so much anger as cowardice. He hadn’t wanted to see her after his marriage broke down, with the divorce upcoming; even less when it was done and he had Marie on his conscience. If she had been unhappy, then he had added to her misery with that cowardice, and he couldn’t forgive himself.

 

He arrived home without having any real memory of the drive back, and stepped into the house, calling out Julia’s name, meaning to hand the box over to her, still wanting to disclaim any ownership of it. It was Julia who’d wanted him to go – Julia and Mrs Welland and Aunt Daisy – and he’d had enough of it already.

There was no answer however, so he carried it upstairs, wondering if she was with Emily and hadn’t heard him, but neither was there. He went into the bedroom and put the box down on the floor, but he couldn’t keep himself from pulling the letters out of the envelope again. He needed, he thought, to be sure that it was real. It seemed as if it must be some sort of strange practical joke.

A thought struck him suddenly, and he sat down on the bed, spreading the old sheets of writing paper out in front of him, his heart suddenly beating a little harder and faster as he searched through them for something else: a stiff, gilded card invitation, nearly twenty years old.

He saw it almost immediately, falling out between the thinner papers:

_Mr & Mrs T. H. Aldridge  
Request the pleasure of your company –_

He pushed it aside again hastily, closing his eyes. He didn’t need or want to see more. His mother had told him, the first time he’d been to see her since he’d sent it and received no reply, that she’d never got it. That, he thought, proved Mrs Welland’s supposition. He didn’t know what had happened between his mother and stepfather, but he couldn’t imagine his mother would tell him such a blatant lie.

Edward couldn’t understand it. Even if Mother hadn’t realised about this; if she’d thought that it was inevitable that Edward had been angry with her and that was why she’d believed he’d written so rarely, she must have known about other things. Why had she never said? Why had she married that man in the first place? And his stepfather hadn’t kept Mother tied to the house – she’d been there to see Edward off and greet him when he stepped down from the train from school, every beginning and end of term, until the silence had finally caused relations to break down. And yet, each time, she’d handed him over to Aunt Anne and Uncle Ted or Aunt Daisy and gone back to Mr Taylor.

Although now, he thought, with a sudden surge of unaccustomed rage, it was easy to see why things had grown so strained and silent; why she hadn’t answered so many of his letters. They’d telephoned, of course, sometimes, especially when they stopped hearing from her as often, but telephone calls were so hit and miss – most of the time, all they got was Mr Taylor, who’d tell them she wasn’t available, which could have been true, or it could have been a lie. Aunt Daisy had had to make the calls anyway. If Edward did, Mr Taylor put the phone down on him. He had always acted as if he thought Edward didn’t exist; an incredibly disconcerting thing for a child.

It was so easy to let things slide. They couldn’t interfere between Mother and Mr Taylor, could they? And it was ridiculous to sit there and vilify his stepfather. He’d had to accept that his mother had made her choice, and stay down in Kent with the people who did care about him.

Edward found himself wanting to hit out at something – at _him_ – but there was nothing left he could do. He thought, wildly, for a minute of finding Mr Taylor’s sister and raging at her, or maybe going out and buying one of Mr Taylor’s books and burning it along with the letters, but both were so eminently pointless that he had to laugh, reluctantly, and brought himself back to a slightly more rational state of mind.

He looked at the letters. He should get on and put them away, or better still, burn them. He didn’t want to keep this pile of useless little missiles that had long ago missed their target. He didn’t need to be reminded of the way it felt. He’d always said – and it was perfectly true, of course – that he was lucky because he’d had Aunt Daisy and the rest of them. They’d always been a close family; undemonstrative but supportive and there when he needed them. Nevertheless, when he’d been packed off to school alone, with Father dead and no idea when he’d see Mother again, he’d been as miserable as he had ever been. He never thought about his father much now; he was mainly a vague, happy memory. It took effort to go back and salvage particulars. The letters, however, sent him right back there, to the moment when that loss had still been vivid and real and this new one too hurtful and baffling to bear.

Of course, he reminded himself, the rest of the time, he hadn’t been so unhappy. He hadn’t hated school at all – he’d enjoyed most of his lessons, and he’d made friends, or at least never attracted too much attention of the wrong sort. It was those particular moments, he thought, sitting at the desk, trying to write home, trying to pretend he was like everyone else, with parents who were still alive and who wrote back to them. He thought about that now, and wondered wearily how many of the other boys had felt much the same. There must have been others, after all; they just wouldn’t have admitted it any more than he had.

 

After Easter had come and gone and he still hadn’t been allowed to go and stay with Mother, he’d grown rebellious, and tried a different tactic to get a response: he’d invented various terrible happenings in his letters to her. He couldn’t remember now exactly why or how he’d come up with the idea, but it was much easier than trying to write the usual sort of letter into a void. He could see the first of them in front of him now; a few lines claiming that they’d got the plague in the school. He meant to laugh at it, but he could still feel something of his old anger and resentment. Why wasn’t she listening to him? She came to see him off and pick him up every time; she visited at half term and on parents’ days, and sometimes she wrote, but only every now and then, and she rarely answered the questions he’d asked her, and that was all.

So, week by week, he’d poured out a catalogue of disasters, sure that she’d have to do _something_ in response to such odd letters. She’d have to come and see he was all right. Or someone at school would read them and if they sent him to the headmaster over that, they’d have to send for her too. However, they didn’t take any notice, either. Thinking back, Edward had to be amused. He and his friends had been so sure that their teachers must read their letters, but, of course, they must have had better things to do than double check the stilted, predictable letters of a few hundred boys every weekend.

He’d made another half-hearted attempt to get into trouble, he remembered now, not only the letters. He’d been only a first former, but Mr Jones the maths master hadn’t liked him, for reasons that were incomprehensible to Edward even at this distance. Coming after Mr Taylor, that made two adults in his immediately vicinity who inexplicably hated him. It wasn’t a coincidence, then, that his short-lived act of protest came in maths. He’d refused to go, and run away to hide behind the huts where they kept the sporting equipment. It had been raining, however, and there wasn’t exactly much to do down there. He stuck it out for nearly an hour before his form master turned up looking for him. 

He’d been surprisingly nice about it, though he’d still had to take Edward back to school and hand him over to Mr Jones to apologise and receive ten strokes on the hand with a ruler. It had felt oddly like achieving something, though, so Edward had thought, until he’d nearly run into his form master in the corridor on the way back. He was talking to the deputy head, so Edward backed away, but not in time to miss part of the conversation: they were talking about him; his form master saying something about making allowances for Iveson, what with his father’s death and his mother’s remarriage: “Boy’s suddenly not wanted – shunted off to some relatives. I wouldn’t mind a few words with her myself about it. It’s no way to treat a child.”

_It wasn’t true_ , thought Edward, hiding around the corner, furiously angry and finding it hard not to cry. Or at least, not like that, not the way he made it sound. It would be parents’ day again soon and Mother would be there, she always was. And as for the teachers making him an object of pity like that, he hated the idea; he was consumed with shame and horror merely at them having to know about things that were supposed to be private. It felt like the worst thing that had happened yet and he risked no more bad behaviour.

 

When Parents’ Day came around, Edward was one of the first ready, and once the usual duties of the day were done, he remained fixed to the window seat in the common room, waiting and praying that she’d arrive soon, terrified that this would be the time that she wouldn’t come.

He still managed somehow to miss her and didn’t know she was there until someone came to fetch him. And then, he thought, bemused even now as he remembered, it had been _fine_ , the way it always was. It was one of the reasons that it made it so hard to ask her questions – every time they were together, it was simply normal, the way it ought to be. He didn’t want to bring up everything else and spoil that, and maybe she didn’t either.

“Ned,” she’d said, and straightened his blazer for him, surveying him with a fondly critical eye. “It’s as well it’s nearly the end of term, isn’t it? You’ve grown again.” She put a hand to his head briefly and gave him a smile, and then told him she’d brought a picnic with her.

“I thought it would make a change,” she said. “There’s ginger cake. Do you want to bring one of your friends?”

He shook his head, instinctively unwilling to share these few hours with anyone else.

“Ned,” she said later, once they’d found a spot for the picnic, “I shall be coming down in the summer again, so you’ll have to think of something nice you want to do and let me know. We’ll go somewhere – just not too far, of course, and you can bring the girls along if you want.”

He nodded, and then finally got the chance to ask her why it was that he only got one or two days out of the whole summer with her, and couldn’t he stay with her, for a week or two at least? 

“You wouldn’t want to be cooped up in London, in that house,” she said, passing him a sandwich. “Now, would you? There wouldn’t be anything for you to do, and you’d miss Nancy and Amy.”

Edward wouldn’t take the sandwich, not yet. He didn’t want it all to be brushed aside like that. “I wouldn’t mind,” he said, even if it probably wasn’t true. “What about Christmas? And I don’t want to have to stay here for half-term again.”

“I’m doing all I can,” said Mother. “One day, when you’re older, I’ll expect you’ll understand. And in the meantime, you might as well enjoy today and think about what we can do for a treat in the summer.”

 

Summer was something of a relief, really. He hadn’t liked to admit that to himself at the time, but Aunt Daisy’s house was reassuringly familiar, as was Uncle Ted and Aunt Anne’s, and it was always good to be back with Nancy. Amy, too, of course, but he and Nancy were almost exactly the same age and they had a long tradition of games that they played together.

Nancy did write sometimes when they were both at school, but she was the world’s worst letter writer and he counted himself lucky if he got two lines from her instead of one. It was always much better to have her there in person. She had, during the Christmas holidays, declared that what they needed was a plan to rescue Aunt Elizabeth and had been working on it ever since, on and off.

Really, though, Edward thought, it was only something to cheer him up and he’d had enough of being humoured and pitied after that business with his form master at school. He went up to the den in the attic, found her detailed and improbable masterplan, and tore it into to pieces.

She’d found him there, a few minutes later, trying hastily to dispose of the evidence, and been furious with him.

“You beast!” she said, and kicked him before he could get up. “How could you? That took me ages!”

Edward jumped up in annoyance, letting the torn pieces of paper go everywhere. “Well, if you weren’t a girl, I’d hit you – that hurt!”

“I’m not a girl!” said Nancy, turning red with anger, and flinging herself at him.

He pushed her back, not caring if he was rough. “You _are_ , you know, Nan, and anyway –”

“Not like that, not when you say it if as I was just _anybody_. And, anyway, you’re only scared if you fought me I’d win. Bet I would, too. And you’d deserve it, you rotten, mean –”

“It was a stupid plan,” snapped Edward. “Silly and babyish and I’m glad I did it!”

Nancy glared back, “I think you don’t really care about Aunt Elizabeth at all, that’s what it is!”

That did it, and they didn’t stop until Aunt Anne came up to find out what was going on, and had been thoroughly taken aback at the sight. Edward and Nancy fighting like that was unheard of in the family. Looking back, Edward could vaguely recall plenty of minor squabbles, and much frustrated anger from Amy who was often too young to be included in what they were doing, but certainly he and Nancy had never before or since had a blazing row, let alone a stand up fight.

Aunt Anne had scolded them both, and sent Nancy to her room, and Edward to the spare room (and he’d later received an extra telling off from Uncle Ted about how one didn’t ever fight girls, which Edward thought was unfair when the girl in question was Nancy and she had every intention of fighting him).

The whole fuss died down as quickly as it had flared up. No sooner were they banished to their respective rooms than he found a note being pushed under the door, from Nancy, presumably delivered by Amy who’d been accidentally punished along with them, since now she had no one left to play with at all unless one of the Cottons came round.

_I’m sorry_ , Nancy had written in pencil on a page torn out of an exercise book. _You are a beast, but it was a rotten plan. We’ll think of a better one._

He grinned at it, and added to the back, with a stub of pencil he’d had in his shirt pocket, _I’m sorry, too_. Then he folded it and slid it under the door of the spare room, listening for the sound of Amy’s footsteps as she ran across the landing with it. He didn’t say anything about the plan. He’d grown up enough since Easter to know that nothing like that was going to work.

 

Edward did think about what to do when Mother came down for the day. He’d decided after the fight that he had better include Nancy, which he probably would have done anyway, and asked if they could go to Avalon. It wasn’t really called that, of course – only a distinctively shaped hill not far from the village. They could see it from the back garden if they looked in the right direction. It was more properly called North Hill, but it had been known as Avalon in the family since Mother and Aunt Daisy and Uncle Ted were children.

It wasn’t all that far, but it was a long enough walk to make a day out of and on the other side of Avalon was a village that had a tea shop that was also legendary in the Long family. It was too far for Amy, which was unfortunate, but they hadn’t been able to go for ages and he knew that Mother liked Avalon, too.

 

By the time they reached Avalon, the weather was beginning to change; grey clouds gathering as if they meant business, but they didn’t let that worry them. Nancy climbed a tree from which she should be able to see the tea shop down below if she tried, while Mother sat down on her coat.

“It’s still there,” Nancy called back, and then swung her legs from her position on the tree branch, deciding aloud what she was going to have when she got there.

Edward sat on the edge of the coat next to his mother.

“I’ll be down again before the end of summer,” Mother told him. “We’ll get all the school things sorted then. I’ve got the list.”

Edward swallowed, trying hard not to show how much it mattered. “I could come to you for the last week. That would make it easier, wouldn’t it?”

“I’m afraid it wouldn’t,” said Mother. “Ned, it’s no use asking. It simply isn’t possible as things are. If they change, I shall tell you; you know that. In the meantime, I won’t make promises I can’t keep.

Edward looked down, clenching his fists and trying to think of a way to argue.

“I wouldn’t leave you here if it wasn’t impossible,” she said, with sudden quiet vehemence. “I would never do that to you – and I would never expect your aunt and uncle to have to take you on like this, either.”

Edward felt the heat of shame sting his cheeks. It made it sound as if none of them wanted him. But Aunt Daisy wouldn’t let him think so, and Aunt Daisy always told the truth. “What if you hadn’t had them? You’d have had to keep me.”

“I honestly don’t know what we would have done,” she said, putting a hand to his shoulder. “Ned, you do remember what it was like last year, don’t you? We couldn’t have carried on like that.”

He nodded, because it was easier than anything else. He thought he might cry, and that was another thing that boys weren’t supposed to do, and while he might not have cared so much if it was only Mother, Nancy was there too and any moment, she might come running back to join them. 

“It wasn’t fun,” he said, though he wanted to say that he would rather put up with that than not see her, especially if it was only for a week or so. He could manage that. But he thought, in sudden alarm, that she looked upset, too, and Mother crying was unthinkable. “It doesn’t matter,” he added hastily. “I expect you’re right.”

Mother tightened her hold on him, ruffling his hair briefly before letting him go. “Oh, Ned, don’t you three have the rule? You don’t tell lies up on Avalon. Of course, it’s not fine, but I’m afraid that we must all make the best of it for now. And we have today – and more days like this to come.”

That made him feel better somehow, and he gave a smile. “I don’t think we did know about that rule.” Then he breathed out again. “Next time, you could stay longer, couldn’t you?”

“Just the night,” said Mother. “Now, come on, I think it’s going to rain, so let’s go on down to the village and have our treat.”

 

Edward might have been happy enough with that for the time being, except Mother didn’t come back for the second visit. Instead, she sent a telegram to let them know and a letter to Aunt Daisy with the school list.

It was, he decided, the last straw. If she wasn’t going to keep her promises after all, then he would go to her house himself, and then she’d have to let him stay.

He set off for the station at the first opportunity, which was the next afternoon. It was a hot August day and the three miles between the house and the tiny station seemed much further than it should have done. It wasn’t until he was nearly there that he began to realise that he really hadn’t planned it out at all. He’d forgotten to check the train times, but he was fairly sure that there wouldn’t be another for hours anyway and by the time he got into London, it would be late and hardly the best time to try to get to Mother’s house alone.

Still, he thought, too stubborn to turn back now, he _would_ go anyway, and that would show her. Then, turning the corner and seeing the station at last, he also saw Uncle Ted sitting on the wall nearby, the familiar black car nearby.

“Ned,” he said. “There you are.”

Edward stared back at him, not sure how or why his uncle could be here, and trying to work up the last of his anger to insist that he was going to visit his mother whatever anyone said, when he already knew that his attempt had been foiled. 

“Had a good walk?” said Uncle Ted, sounding as if Edward took it into his head to sneak out and stroll down to the train station every other day. It was better than him making a fuss, though, Edward thought, fiercely blinking back tears.

Uncle Ted watched him. “Yes?” he said. “Well, hop in, then and we’ll be back in time for dinner.”

Edward gave an uneven smile and obeyed him. “Thank you,” he said, relieved that Uncle Ted wasn’t going to start asking questions he wasn’t sure how to answer.

“They’ve gone away, you know,” said Uncle Ted, his tone still conversational, as he drove the car back down the lane with the carelessness of someone who knew he was likely to be the only driver on the road. “It’s why she couldn’t come. Would have been a bit of a wasted trip if you had got that train.”

Edward felt something tightening inside him. The hedgerows blurred as they passed. “Thank you,” he said, and then, after another moment: “I think I feel sick!”

Uncle Ted pulled the car over sharply and Edward jumped out, doubling up by the grass verge.

“Well, and it’s usually Amy, not you,” said Uncle Ted, still making everything sound as if it was normal.

Edward held onto the ground, to the grass, his fingers digging into the earth beneath. He still felt sick, but nothing happened, except that to his great shame, he started to cry, shaking from the effort of trying to hold it back. She must have lied after all, he thought, otherwise how could she go away somewhere else when she was supposed to be visiting him? If she really wanted him, she would be here; she would have answered his letters, and she would never have married such an awful man in the first place.

“Ned,” said his uncle, putting a hand to his shoulder. “Come on. Best get back, you know. You’ve got a hanky, yes?”

He swallowed with an effort, and nodded. “S-somewhere.”

“Good,” said Uncle Ted. He still had his hand on Edward’s shoulder, helping him up and ushering him back to the car.

Edward sat there and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand before pulling his hanky out of his pocket and then went limp against the seat, staring ahead unseeing, even though it was usually a high treat to get a ride in the car.

It was the first and last time he ever tried to run away.

 

“Ned,” said Julia, suddenly in the doorway, her voice breaking into his memories, “what are you doing?”

He barely even looked up, still caught up in the past, and merely pointed to the letters, as if that explained everything. Julia, however, was understandably baffled until he finally made the effort to look up and tell her where they’d been found.

She sat down near to him, but he wouldn’t look at her. He didn’t want the comfort she would no doubt try to offer; he was too angry at both himself and his stepfather. Looking again at the letters, he let himself give way to hating the man. He’d married Edward’s mother, and taken her away from him, and made her unhappy, and if these letters were anything to go by, at least some of that must have been deliberate. Edward couldn’t touch Julia, could barely speak to her; childish loathing and adult fury adding up to an intense hatred.

“I’d like to kill him,” he said.

Julia laughed, and he looked at her in surprise. He didn’t know what he’d expected her to say and had barely even been talking to her, but he hardly liked not being taken seriously.

“I’m sorry,” said Julia, leaning towards him. “Don’t be angry again. It’s just that Aunt Daisy said almost exactly the same thing.” She tilted her head a little, giving a slight, smile and shrug, as if to indicate her helplessness in the face of such improbability.

“Not that I blame you,” she continued, and she put a hand to his arm. He could feel the warmth of her through his sleeve. “I should think anyone would feel that way after finding out something like this! But you can’t, you know, not now. It’s much too late, and, anyway, I really couldn’t have you being arrested for murder.”

Despite himself, Edward gave a short laugh, letting go of enough of his anger that he could turn to her instead. He touched her face with his hand, wanting to say something, but he wasn’t sure what. There was no need, anyway: she put her arms around him, pulling him closer, and he breathed out, pushing all the rest aside for the moment, holding onto her in return. Whatever was past was past, and there was nothing he could do to change any of it, but Julia was here, very much so, and he was glad of that.


	53. Other People's Secrets (T, 1956: Edward Iveson/Julia Graves, Marie Werner, Diana Foyle, Caroline Sheldon, Ron Whittaker)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The past comes back to trouble Edward and Julia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> April 1956; Edward Iveson/Julia Iveson, Diana Foyle, Marie Werner, Caroline Sheldon, Ronald Whittaker.
> 
> Prompts: Chocolate #2 (rivalry/jealousy), Papaya #2 (wouldn’t you like to know)
> 
> Notes/Warnings: This point is where the overall plot starts to kick in more (for anyone only interested in the lighter or more tropey pieces); discussion of infidelity, trust issues, spies.

Julia almost missed the knock at the door. The party was in full swing and while it was hardly what anyone would call a wild affair, the guests were busy talking and that there was music playing in the living room. She caught something, however, and went to investigate, trying to think who could be making such a late arrival, but when she opened the door, she found a stranger standing there. 

The woman stepped into the hallway, as Julia invited her in, and then she widened her eyes slightly as she heard the sounds of the party. She gave a small, wry smile. “I guess this isn’t the best time, is it?”

“Oh,” said Julia. “Oh. Then I’m sorry – what _did_ you want?” She watched the woman with more interest, but she still had no idea who she could be. She was American, judging by the accent, and some years older than Julia – hard to tell how many, but probably older than she looked at first glance. Her coat was expensive, her hat smart and underneath it, she was dark-haired and dark-eyed. 

The stranger gave her another apologetic smile. “I wanted to see Mr Iveson. I’d come back another day if I could, but it’s urgent. He is here?”

“Oh, yes, of course,” said Julia. “Come on in. I’ll take you into the study and see if I can find him for you. Last time I saw him, he was being lectured by Sir Robin Mayhew, so I expect he’ll appreciate being rescued.”

The woman held out a hand to her. “And you must be Mrs Iveson? It’s nice to meet you.”

“Yes, I am,” said Julia, as she shook her hand briefly, and then hoped she hadn’t sounded too proprietorial. But it _was_ odd, she thought. “I’m Julia Iveson. Who shall I say you are?”

The other woman was about to answer, when she suddenly looked past Julia. Julia turned instinctively, and saw Edward emerge into the hallway, shutting the dining room door behind him.

“Julia,” he said, moving across. “I thought I heard the door.” Then he turned to greet the visitor, and if Julia had been feeling unsettled before, the abrupt change in his expression did nothing to reassure her. He stopped at first in blank surprise, and then looked from one to the other with sudden guilt and alarm. “Good Lord,” he said, and then: “Marie – Mrs Werner. How – how nice to see you again.”

 

“My God, Edward,” said Marie, following him into the study. “Some things don’t change. You’re still terrible at this game. And I’m sorry. I had no intention of coming to see you, let alone butting in on a party, but I had to.”

Edward cast a last, anxious look at the door and then forced himself to give his attention to Marie, instead of wondering what Julia must be thinking. He remained by the door, clasping his hands behind his back as he surveyed her. She’d changed surprisingly little, really. She was older, of course, but he had probably altered more. She was nervous, though, looking around the room, and then playing with a paperweight on the desk, and that was new. 

“Something’s wrong?” he asked. “I take it there must be.”

“You haven’t heard, then,” she said, and then gave a small shrug. “Obviously not. It’s Richard. He’s dead – just this morning –” She halted. “I know this must sound odd, but it’ll make sense presently, if you’ll hear me out.”

“I’m sorry,” said Edward.

Marie gave a nod, and composed herself. “Thank you. The thing is, the authorities aren’t happy about it.”

“They think it’s foul play?”

“They’re not sure it’s natural causes anyway.” She raised her head. “I don’t see why. It’s surely inevitable for someone who lived like Richard to keel over at sixty, if not sooner. But, yes. And so they’re suspicious of the spouse. In their eyes, I’m the wronged wife who’s set to inherit everything. I suppose I’d look at me funny, too, if I were in their shoes.”

Edward still didn’t see anything he could do, so he waited for her to continue.

“Darn, I sound heartless,” she said, “and I’m not, I swear. It’s just easier this way.”

Edward took a small step forward. “I wouldn’t ever think you were. But you still haven’t explained why you’re here. I’ve got no influence with the police – though I’m sure they’ll soon see the truth.”

“No, no,” she said. “I didn’t think you had. It’s just an uncomfortable thought I keep having. If anybody killed Richard, it wasn’t me, and it was certainly a neat business and that got me thinking. He wasn’t a politician, but he was a player. You remember our last meeting, don’t you?”

“Yes.” Edward found himself colouring faintly, despite the sixteen years distance from that occasion. Seeing her again brought it all back again with uncomfortable clarity. “I take it you mean – asking you to spy on him.”

She nodded. “If someone thought that worth trying once, and it didn’t work out that way, what are the chances they’ll try again some other way? Maybe I’m just letting my imagination run away with me, but what if it was to do with somebody’s spy games? Because I don’t want to be locked away as the nearest convenient scapegoat.”

“I see.”

Marie looked up again. “You think I’m over-reacting? I probably am. The man at the Embassy certainly did when I even tried to hint about it – I’m sure he thought I was trying to cover my guilt with some crazy story. But I kept on thinking about it and it looked less unlikely every time. Then I thought that you are the only other person I know who knows anyone ever made that offer. And you know who made it in the first place.”

“Yes, I think I understand,” said Edward. “And I believe Carlisle is still around somewhere – one of the fixtures of the building, last time I looked. I suppose I can ask him and make some noise about it – or threaten to if anything happens. I don’t know what else I can do, though. It’s hardly going to help you if they bring up our former association.”

She raised an eyebrow at his attempt to be tactful. “My God, Edward, have you gotten even more mealy-mouthed with age, or is it only that I’ve forgotten what you’re like?”

“If you’ve got an address you can give me,” said Edward, choosing to ignore that, though he stiffened his shoulders nevertheless, “I’ll see what I can do and then let you know. But I don’t know –”

Marie pulled a pen from the desk and wrote it down for him. “Thanks, Edward. I’m sure it’s just the reaction. I’m all to pieces, and I haven’t felt like this since John. I’d sworn to myself I wouldn’t let that happen again. And I certainly didn’t mean to come here and interrupt your party. You’re cursing me, no doubt.”

“Don’t be silly, Marie,” he said. He would rather she hadn’t turned up again, but now that she was here, he could only be pleased to see her, despite the attendant awkwardness. He took the piece of paper, and put it in his pocket. “You were kind to me once, and I’m grateful. I’ll do whatever I can.”

She gave a sudden, rueful smile, and looked more like the Marie he remembered. “As I recall, honey,” she said, “it was more than once.”

 

Julia, having first ensured that the guests weren’t feeling the absence of both their hosts, went upstairs to check on Emily. Her young daughter had been sleeping undisturbed by a crowd of politicians and civil servants downstairs, but she stirred slightly when Julia came into the room.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Julia said, crossing over to kiss her. “It’s only me.”

Emily didn’t wake, she merely fell still again, a small hot body buried under the bedclothes. Julia tried to straighten those, almost absently, refraining from the temptation to smooth back Emily’s hair, for fear she would rouse her. “Oh,” she added in an undertone, “and Daddy is downstairs talking to some mysterious woman, but I don’t think we should worry about that either, do you?”

 

Edward returned to the living room after Marie had gone, in search of Julia. He seemed to be able to find everyone but his wife, so he stopped to talk to Diana Foyle. “Diana. Have you seen Julia?”

“She was here, but I think she said something about popping up to see Emily,” said Diana. “Edward, while you’re here, Mr Whittaker’s just been telling me how much he would like to have a word with you. Not now, perhaps, but some other time.”

Edward turned towards the younger MP, and gave a smile. “Yes, of course. Whenever is convenient.”

“And when you do, tell him not to be so gloomy about everything,” Diana added, and then at Edward’s enquiring look, she explained: “He doesn’t think we can win the next election after all.”

“Well, it is a possibility, one must admit,” said Edward, amused despite himself. “It did happen last time. I was looking over the latest figures only yesterday, and it probably will be a narrow thing –”

Diana cut in. “Oh, God, let’s not go over that again. I swear I’ve had the same conversation with everyone in the room. It reminds me why I’m going away next week.”

“Now?” said Whittaker in surprise.

She laughed. “Only for a few days – a week at most. I’ve got a friend who’s got a cottage on the Devon coast, and I retreat there every so often before going back into the fray. Besides, my constituents don’t really have much choice. The only other serious candidate is Mr Flintwick-Allan, who may possibly not even be alive any more; it would be hard to tell. He stands up and announces that obviously he is superior to an interfering female and then my constituents sensibly ignore him. I think they quite like the feeling of notoriety I give them.”

“You’re very lucky, then,” said Whittaker.

Edward raised an eyebrow at Diana, who returned his look, unrepentant. “You’ll learn that Mrs Foyle takes these things as seriously as the rest of us, if not more so.”

“Oh, I do,” said Diana, putting a reassuring hand to Whittaker’s arm. “It’s only when I’m among friends – and when I’ve had those damned figures quoted to me so often I could recite them myself.”

Edward smiled. “Anyway, do excuse me. I need to find Julia.”

 

Having left Emily still happily asleep, Julia arrived beside Diana, looking around the room with a frown. “Where’s Edward, do you know?” Was he still, she wondered, in the study with the unknown woman?

“I don’t know,” said Diana, “but he was looking for you. It’s just as well your house isn’t any larger, or however would you manage?”

Julia smiled. “It’s not usually a problem, thank you. I didn’t see him in the other room, that’s all.”

“Well, I think he gave up on you and went to make a telephone call,” said Diana. “I’m sure I heard him say something like that to Mr Harding.”

Julia laughed. “Then I’ll stay here, and I’m sure he’ll turn up again eventually.” She sighed slightly. “I’d have thought people would have started to leave by now.”

“Is that a not very subtle hint?” said Diana, raising both eyebrows. 

Julia said, “Oh, dear, I didn’t really mean – and not _you_ anyway.”

“Don’t worry,” said Diana. “I spy Mr and Mrs Arlington coming this way, and I rather suspect they’ve only been waiting to bid you goodnight before going. And you know how it is with these things – one pebble should start off the avalanche nicely.”

 

Diana was right, and it thankfully wasn’t too long before the guests had gone. Julia sent Mrs Crosbie on home, telling her the clearing up could wait, leaving her at last alone with Edward. She stole a glance at him as she gathered up the full ash trays.

“So,” she said, when he didn’t take the initiative. “Who was she?”

Edward turned enquiringly, in the middle of putting the dirty glasses onto one of the trays.

“And don’t say ‘who’,” said Julia, before he could. “You know perfectly well that I mean the mystery American lady who turned up in the middle and wanted to talk to you.”

Edward arranged the glasses with rather more concentration than the action warranted. “It’s a little complicated.”

“Well, I suggest you try,” Julia said, “because I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone look quite as guilty as you did when you saw her in the hallway. So either you once did something terrible to the poor woman, or there was something between you. Whichever it is, you don’t want to leave me to imagine lurid things, do you?”

“I don’t think now is the time.”

Julia thumped the ash trays down on the table unwisely. “Oh, really! Well, I assume that you once had an – an affair, because I don’t see why else you should look like that. Now, would you like to elaborate, or is that sufficient for the late hour?”

“Honestly, Julia, sometimes you can be so – indelicate!”

Julia had been feeling unsettled by the encounter, but not seriously. That, though, she thought, was really too much. She had to fight the temptation to throw one of the ash trays at his head. “I am?” she said, bristling. “Well, you sound positively Victorian – antediluvian – and thoroughly hypocritical, considering that she’s your mystery woman, not mine!”

“Let’s get rid of these things first,” he said, “and I’ll tell you upstairs. If you go on like that, you’ll wake Emily.”

If the ash trays hadn’t been full, thought Julia, she _would_ have thrown one. And if he hadn’t been right.

 

“Well?” she said later, sitting up in the bed, hugging the eiderdown, and watching him while he fussed about hanging up his clothes. She kept her voice low.

Edward glanced over at her. “It’s as you said, really.”

“You had some kind of affair,” she said for him. “Didn’t you?”

He nodded. “It didn’t last very long, and I haven’t seen her for nearly seventeen years. I don’t mean to make excuses, of course, but I met Marie – Mrs Werner – about the time the divorce came through, and she was – well, it was all a long time ago. It doesn’t matter now.”

But it _did_ , Julia thought. It mattered because this woman – Marie – had turned back up and Julia had been left feeling utterly ignorant of Edward’s past again. After all this time, she thought, painfully. Rationally, she could understand it, and she’d always assumed that he must have seen someone after Caroline and before she came along, but a large part of her seemed intent on being irrational. There was something else, too. “Was she married then? She was, wasn’t she? You had an affair with a married woman?”

“It wasn’t like that,” he said, holding back irritation. “Or, well, yes, but –” He stopped and then got into the bed. “Whatever the truth, it has no bearing on the present. You must know that.”

Julia nodded, and gave him a brief smile, because she knew he wasn’t the only one being a little unreasonable at this particular moment. She was more disturbed than she cared to admit, though. She’d always thought of Edward as being, if anything, stricter in these matters than she was. Now she knew that wasn’t the case, or it hadn’t always been. “I do know,” she said. “And I agree, except – the thing is, she’s turned back up now. So, please – tell me what she wanted.”

“I don’t think,” said Edward carefully, “that I can say.”

Julia lifted her head. “I’m sorry?”

“I don’t think I should,” he said. “It’s rather sensitive.”

Julia bit back her temper again. “I’m not asking for every last detail, Edward – I just need to know _something_. How do you think I felt earlier when she arrived and I had no idea who she was? You never even mentioned her, not in almost seven years –”

He had the nerve to look surprised. “But, Julia, how could I? It isn’t the sort of thing one brings up in casual conversation – and it was over long ago, Marie was thousands of miles away. Why should I? In any case, Marie was still married, and it would have been unfair to her to say anything unless I had to.”

“I know our agreement,” said Julia, “but that’s no reason you couldn’t tell me something like that.”

Edward looked at her, about to say something else, and then evidently thought better of it. “I don’t think this conversation is getting us anywhere, do you?”

 _Oh, yes_ , thought Julia, _yes it is_. It was sobering to find out how much he still didn’t trust her. She lay down and turned her back on him, and said, if a little indistinctly, “Yes, quite right. Good night, Edward.”

“Julia –”

“I think,” she said, “that I’ve already talked to quite enough politicians for one evening, thank you.”

Julia closed her eyes and tried not to allow herself to be upset, but she was. No doubt Edward had been thrown by Marie Werner’s unexpected reappearance as much as she had, and perhaps, given more time, he would explain. However, it hurt not to be trusted with his secrets. Worse still, it was disconcerting and humiliating to find she could still be so ignorant of his past. 

Yet what ate at her the most was something else again – irrationally, underneath it all, she was furiously jealous. Not of Marie now, or Caroline, or anybody else, but quite savagely so of them for having known him years ago when she hadn’t; when she couldn’t have done. This felt worse than Caroline. He’d told her about Caroline, and she knew how he felt about her, but Marie was an unknown, as were Edward’s feelings for her. 

It would be no use trying to explain that to Edward. She had made the attempt once, when talking about Caroline, and he’d only given her an alarmed look and pointed out that she must have been still at school when he had married Caroline. Which wasn’t the point, Julia thought. She wished she’d met him sooner – not quite that soon, obviously, Edward was right about that much – but they could have run into each other during the war and not had to wait for that awful interview about her brother’s death. 

Besides, she thought, wasn’t Caroline was more than enough for anyone to have to put up with, without this? It was completely unfair and never happened the other way around. Honestly, thought Julia, it would serve Edward right if Michael Campbell walked in. Except, she admitted, being a realist at heart, that Michael had always had trouble remembering her name even when he had been going out with her, and in the unlikely event that he ever did turn up again, he would probably have forgotten her altogether. 

That made Julia sigh to herself, and she turned over again, facing Edward. “I was thinking about throwing one of the ash trays at you,” she told him, which wasn’t really much of an apology, but she didn’t think he deserved a proper one yet. She also thought he’d understand, and he seemed to: he gave a slight smile in the gloom, or she thought he did. “And in the morning,” she said, “please, think about it; think about whatever you can tell me. I need to know something. It isn’t fair otherwise.”

“Julia, will you please go to sleep?” he said, but he touched her face lightly, and that was a yes, she knew.

 

Tidying with Mrs Crosbie the next morning, Julia found that Diana Foyle had left her scarf behind. Even though she could hardly tell Diana her problem, the idea of at least speaking to someone else appealed more than anything else she had in mind for the morning. She made a telephone call to Diana’s house to locate her, and then set off, tracking her down in a church hall, where she was busy folding leaflets, and, much to Julia’s dismay, with Caroline Sheldon helping. It was, Julia thought, trying to stifle unfair annoyance, as if it were a conspiracy.

“Oh, Julia, how nice,” said Diana, looking up with a brief smile. “We could use another hand here, if you’re willing.”

“I’m afraid I can’t stay,” said Julia, and held out the scarf to Diana. Talking to Caroline was certainly not what she’d had in mind. “I was just – passing. I came to give you this. Didn’t you notice you’d left it?”

Diana smiled. “Apparently not, but thank you.”

“I’ll take these on through,” said Caroline to Diana, picking up a bundle of printed papers. She gave Julia a kind smile. “You’ll excuse me, won’t you? I wish I could stay – it’s been too long since I’ve seen you. You’re all well, I trust?”

Julia forced a smile in return, and swallowed the contrary impulse to say that, no, they were all dying of something. “Of course. Thank you.”

As Caroline walked out, Diana raised an eyebrow at Julia. “Well?” she said.

“Well, what?” said Julia.

Diana flicked through the leaflets and then looked up again. “Nothing, but you looked as if you’d like to murder poor Caroline.”

“I’m sure I didn’t,” said Julia, and then, after a pause, added: “Well, I just wasn’t in the mood for Caroline this morning!”

Diana eyed her severely. “You know I’m fond of you, Julia, but I have an election to win. Caroline is trying to help me, as my friend. If you would like to stay and do the same, you’re welcome, but if not, I’m afraid I simply don’t have the time to spare.”

“I’m sorry,” said Julia, colouring. “I wasn’t thinking.”

Diana cast a concerned glance over her. “Is something wrong? It isn’t very like you.”

“No, no,” said Julia, realising as she should have done sooner, that this wasn’t something that she could talk to anyone else about, no matter how vague she was. “It was something else, really. You know how it is. And, honestly, I didn’t mean to be rude.”

She returned home in time to receive a telephone call from somebody’s secretary to tell her that Mr Iveson would very likely be late home. He had tried to call her himself, the secretary added, but she’d been out.

“Thank you,” said Julia, and felt quite sure it would also (coincidentally) mean he couldn’t possibly talk to her tonight, either, and she sighed, and then decided that, really, she was being at least a little ridiculous. She glanced at her watch, and hurried away instead to fetch Emily from nursery. This afternoon, she thought, they could go to the park. There were, after all, more important things in life than letting her sometimes morbid feelings about the past get the better of her.

 

Edward had been sidetracked first by campaign matters, and after that, he still had to follow up the phone call he’d made last night and look into Marie’s business, too, and hunting down the right people was bound to take a while. He telephoned Julia first, to make his excuses, and had to own to being slightly relieved when she wasn’t there. She’d have inevitably been sceptical, which in this case, was hardly fair.

And once all that had been done, he had to speak to Marie again.

 

He met her in one of the offices, ushering her in, and pulling out the chair from the desk for her.

“How are you?” he asked.

Marie looked up at him, and then leant forward as he sat down on the other side of the desk. “Now, you must have news, or you wouldn’t have asked to see me. So don’t you dare start talking about the weather instead. Just tell me.”

“I wasn’t going to,” said Edward, although he wasn’t entirely sure whether or not that was true. Having Marie back around made him unaccountably nervous. “And, yes, I do.”

She smiled. “Well, your police seem to have decided that they believe in my alibi. So, I hope I haven’t been wasting your time after all.”

“I honestly don’t know,” said Edward, “but people took it seriously. I’m not privy to what goes on with these things, but wheels were definitely turning. I’m not sure you were wrong, even if it wasn’t murder – which I hope it wasn’t.”

Marie gave a tight little smile. “Thanks. I hope so, too. Everyone else seems to assume I don’t care. I was as fond of Richard as anyone, and I’ll miss him.”

“Well, I suppose I can’t do much else,” he said, “but let me know if anything else happens – or it all gets sorted. I now know who to go to again if anybody tries to make trouble for you.”

“That almost sounds reassuring.”

Edward said, politely, “And, of course, if there’s ever anything else I can do –”

“I’ll let you know,” she said, “but mostly I promise to stay a few thousand miles away if they’ll only let me out of here. Don’t worry.” She stood, and held out her hand to him.

Edward got to his feet. “I didn’t say –”

“You didn’t have to,” she said. “Your face last night! My God. Edward, you do know how obviously you gave yourself away, don’t you? It’s not any of my business, of course, but what did you tell that nice wife of yours?”

Edward drew back from her. “You’re right, Marie. That isn’t any of your business.”

“No,” she said, “only if we have to meet again, it might be as well if I don’t contradict whatever you did say. Besides, I know how polite and English you get, and I thought if she was too polite and English to ask –”

Edward had to work to hide his amusement at how far wide of the mark she was. “I can assure you, you don’t need to worry about that. And I don’t see why that would be a concern.”

“Except if this tangle isn’t as straightened out as we think,” she said, “and I have to get back in touch with you again. I mean, just give me a clue here, Edward. Did you say to her that we had a little affair once, it was all very nice, but it was over years ago, or am I merely an old acquaintance? And what did I ask to see you about? You can always mime, if you prefer.”

Edward glared at her. “I still don’t see – but, yes, she knows. As to this business, I haven’t spoken to her about it. I wasn’t sure – I thought it might even come under the Official Secrets Act before we were done.”

“My God,” said Marie, looking at him as if he were a particularly unusual specimen of something, “that’s not what you _said_ , is it? The poor woman.”

 

Edward came in later than he had expected, and went in search of Julia, feeling apprehensive. He found her in the sitting room, finishing off the hem of a dress for Emily, just biting off the cotton thread as he entered. She looked rather too deliberately virtuous, he thought, as if a tableau especially staged for his arrival. Julia had fits of deciding to play roles – being the ideal hostess, that sort of thing. It was usually only for public display but occasionally also for his benefit, and he always found it disconcerting to come home to. He had long since decided that he preferred it when she was threatening to throw things.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I know what you’re going to say –”

Julia smiled at him. “I wasn’t going to say anything, except that your dinner is in the oven, no doubt drying up nicely. I hope it’s still edible, but there’s not much I can do about it. Unless you’ve already eaten?”

Edward nodded, feeling guilty, but he’d had a last minute meeting with Harding, who often liked to combine business with pleasure. “Sorry. And Julia –”

“Hmm?” she said, apparently more intent on tidying away her needle and thread than listening to him.

“I will do as you suggested, and tell you what I can about this business with Marie Werner, but not now. And it’s just – it _is_ sensitive, and – well, the trouble is, it involves other people’s secrets, not mine.”

Julia nodded, but there was a worrying spark in her eye. “Oh, yes. Given how little I can be trusted, it might be very unfair, mightn’t it? And incidentally a rather convenient excuse for avoiding a difficult topic. I do see, don’t worry, darling.”

“Good Lord, Julia, sometimes you’re impossible!”

She picked up her things, and stood up. “How funny. I was thinking the very same thing about you. Now, do excuse me, I’m going to bed.”

Once she’d gone, Edward sighed a bit, and set about tracking down his book, unsure where it had been put in preparation for the party, and eventually found it in the bureau. Even as he picked it up, he heard the door open again, and turned around.

“I’m sorry,” said Julia, standing there. “I let you annoy me – and what I meant to say was that, of course, I _would_ like to know what this is about, but, as you say, other people’s secrets – and there are more important things.”

 

The universe seemed to be conspiring against her, Julia thought, when two days later, a knock at the door turned out to be Mrs Werner for the second time.

“Mrs Iveson,” said Marie Werner. “We meet again. I have a note to leave for Mr Iveson, and I’d be grateful if I could have a word with you while I’m here. If I may come in?”

Julia stifled her instinctive dismay, because while it wasn’t fair to say that Caroline was more than enough to be going on with, she really would rather have taken the note and left it at that. However, she stood back and held the door for Marie. “Of course.” 

“You’re wishing me at the devil, I suppose,” said Marie, following her in, and removing her hat before shrugging off her coat. “I was arguing with myself about whether or not to try and catch you, or just post that message. But then I decided to leave it to fate, as to whether or not you were in, and here we are. I won’t stay long, I’ll promise you that much.”

Julia still didn’t know what to say, so she merely led her unexpected guest into the sitting room and asked her if she would like some tea or coffee.

“I said I won’t stay too long,” said Marie. “So, no thanks, but it’s sweet of you to offer. First things first,” she said, handing a small envelope to Julia, “if you’ll see that your husband gets this? There’s nothing private in it. You can read it yourself if you like.”

Julia coloured. “I wouldn’t.”

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” said Marie, sitting down, and glancing around the room with interest. “Well, here’s the other thing, and I’m probably being unforgivably interfering, but there are a few things I’d like to explain.”

Julia looked up in alarm. Whatever had happened between Edward and this woman once was not something she wanted to hear anything more about, or at least, not from anyone who wasn’t Edward.

“I said it would be awkward, didn’t I?” said Marie. “But I don’t like keeping people in the dark for no good reason, especially if anybody from intelligence is involved. And Edward was muttering something about the Official Secrets Act.”

The last thing Julia wanted was to be disloyal to Edward, but Marie’s remark about intelligence gave her pause, and she managed only a half-hearted, half-formed protest. “I don’t think –”

“Well,” said Marie, “it’s my secret and I can tell anyone I want. There’s nothing to hide, anyway. The thing is, my husband Richard died suddenly a few days ago and all sorts of people seemed suddenly to be taking an interest – thinking it might be murder, and looking at me, and maybe I panicked.”

Julia couldn’t quite unbend yet, though it wasn’t what she had expected. “I’m sorry,” she said, still sounding stiff.

“Thank you, honey. The long and the short of it is, I got myself in a state, and started wondering who was responsible and if they might want a handy scapegoat, and didn’t like that idea much, so I came to Edward for help.”

“I see,” Julia said, though she wasn’t sure she did.

Marie gave a small smile. “I wouldn’t have, but there was something he knew – something that finished us off, if I’m honest – and either he did manage to push things in the right direction, or I was only worrying over nothing after all. Richard and I might not have been as close as some, but it shook me up some to lose him, especially like that. And now it’s all over and I can go back home. I’ll be too far away to come calling again, you needn’t worry.”

“I wouldn’t –” Julia began, and then wasn’t sure what to say that wasn’t either a blatant lie or plain rude. She stopped, and gave a slight, embarrassed laugh. “I don’t really mind, but as you say, there is something awkward about it. Not that that matters compared to what you must have been through this week – I hope you get home without any more trouble.”

Marie nodded. “Oh, so do I. Anyhow, you’ve been gracious, and I hope I didn’t cause any mischief coming here like this.”

“No,” said Julia, standing along with her guest, relaxing now in her relief. “Of course not. And, anyway, it’s a lot better than forever running into Caroline!” Then she coloured at her indiscretion. “Oh, dear, please forget that I said that. I shouldn’t. It really has nothing to say to anything –”

Marie merely looked back at her in confusion. Then she said, cautiously, “Now, wait, that’s not the infamous first wife, is it?”

“I don’t think you could call Caroline infamous,” said Julia. “I don’t think she has it in her. But, yes, and I really shouldn’t –”

“Was it deliberate?” said Marie with sudden interest. “That marriage and the divorce. I seem to recall wondering at the time. It all sounded kind of odd to me.”

Julia shook her head. “Oh, no, it makes sense once you know Caroline. The worst thing is, she’s so happy for us – still!”

“Well, don’t bite my head off if I congratulate you, too,” said Marie, “but I’ll only do it this once, I promise. It’s been a hell of a week, but I won’t say I’m sorry to have met you and seen that things worked out for Edward. Like I said, it was this sort of intelligence nonsense that finished us, and I’d rather have done that in my own way. It would have been kinder.”

Julia frowned. “Intelligence nonsense?”

“Oh, people wanting to use us to get at Richard. There was nothing else to do but finish it already,” said Marie with another shrug. “Even aside from the morality, where would it end? Just look at Richard – I still can’t be sure somebody didn’t do something, though I’ll choose to think not.”

Julia found it suddenly difficult to breathe. “No,” she said, hoping her reaction didn’t show. “What else could you do?” (What else would any decent human being do? Except for her, of course.)

She showed Marie out, and then went back into the sitting room, shutting the door behind her, and sat on the floor by the sofa. Marie might not have understood why Edward would feel the need to invoke the Official Secrets Act at home, but Julia did. It was sensitive information, this – and someone had tried in some way to use his relationship with Marie once before and he wouldn’t risk that happening again, ensuring he would never mention it to her, even had he wanted to.

It wasn’t, she thought suddenly, not being trusted that hurt, but the uncomfortable fact that she wasn’t trustworthy. She never had been. When she’d met Edward, she’d approached him with the intention to try and get information out of him for the organisation. She might have been terrible at it, but it was what she’d been doing at the Embassy reception, and Edward had known from the start. It was his idea, so much of the rest of it, but he could make that proposal because that was already who she was.

Julia had grown used to the other, hardly even active, part of her life being there. It troubled her sometimes, especially of late – her current contact had grown increasingly annoyed by the fact that she didn’t really have anything much to offer – but she’d almost come to accept it as normal, justified even. She had a loyalty to the organisation – she didn’t know what she’d have done without them when she’d been left alone in Germany. Her brother had been connected to them, too, and it had seemed like doing something – fighting back at otherwise invisible assailants.

But now what? she thought. What happened this time, if they won the election? Since they’d been out of power, Edward’s standing in the party had grown, and there was a good chance he’d be in the cabinet this time around. Then she would have to betray one of them, wouldn’t she?

She pressed her hand to her mouth, feeling the shame as a physical thing, keeping her down on the floor, crushing her. She’d have to stop – she’d have to. She couldn’t face Edward again until she did.

“Mrs Iveson,” said Mrs Crosbie, opening the door and poking her head round it. “You said to remind you –” She stopped and blinked. “Mrs Iveson?”

Julia lifted her head. “I – I dropped something,” she said, managing to pick herself up with some dignity. “What was it you wanted?”

“You said to remind you,” Mrs Crosbie said. “You didn’t want to forget to phone the plumber again – about the tap in the kitchen.”

Julia felt that she’d left the message in another world. “Oh, dear. I _had_ forgotten,” she said. “And thank you, Mrs Crosbie, but look at the time – I had better go for Emily, don’t you think? I’ll just have to write myself a very large note.”

She made her escape, trying to think. She was over-reacting again, she told herself. It wasn’t as if Edward hadn’t known when he married her. It had been his idea, after all. 

“Oh, but that doesn’t matter!” she said to herself, under her breath, but still audibly enough to startle an elderly gentleman walking his dog in the other direction. She ignored that. It didn’t matter whose idea it had been, or how long it had been going on for. She’d seen it as it was for the first time in an age, and it couldn’t go on. She couldn’t let it.

 

Edward reached home late again, although at least it was no more than an hour this time. However, he stepped into the hallway to find Julia there, wearing a smart dress and an impatient glare.

“Oh,” he said. “I see I’m late for something.”

Julia raised an eyebrow. “I’m so glad you noticed. Yes, we are late for dinner at Lord Howe’s, which I would have thought you could have remembered, since it you were the one who was set on getting the invitation. Something about a column in his paper, even though you know I think he’s detestable.”

“I’m sorry,” said Edward. “I shall go and get ready as quickly as I can, and I’ll assure them it was all my fault, don’t worry.”

Julia had left his suit out ready, and he was as fast as he could decently be. He hurried back down the stairs, and said, “There. I shouldn’t think we’ll be anything more than fashionably late. I’m sorry, though. It’s merely that everything is a little manic at the moment. In fact, I need to go into Kent tomorrow and I was thinking, if you could possibly come too –”

“Well, I can’t,” said Julia, following him out the door. “You really should have asked sooner.”

Edward locked the door and turned towards her. “Julia?” he said. “I know I should have remembered – but there’s something else, isn’t there? What’s got into you?” He reached out a hand to touch her face, but she visibly flinched away from him, and he hastily moved on towards the car, unable to think how to respond, except to pretend that he hadn’t noticed.

“Are you saying it’s unreasonable of me to be angry because you’re late for a dinner engagement for the umpteenth time this year?”

He recognised that as one of those questions to which there was no good answer, and concentrated on starting the car instead. “Look,” he said tentatively, after racking his brains for something that might have produced this worrying mood, “is this still about – well, about Mrs Werner? Because I will explain; I merely haven’t had the chance yet.”

“No,” said Julia. “And, anyway, you were right. You have your secrets, and I have mine. That’s simply how things are, isn’t it?”

Edward glanced over at her again, concerned, and trying to think what to say, before giving up and driving on. It might be true, he thought, but it oughtn’t to be.


	54. Everything I Own (T, 1956: Edward Iveson/Julia Graves, Diana Foyle, Ron Whittaker)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julia comes to a crossroads, and none of the paths ahead seem to be the right one; meanwhile, Edward is at a loss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> spring 1956, Edward Iveson/Julia Iveson, Diana Foyle, Ronald Whittaker. Follows on directly from _Other People’s Secrets_.
> 
> Prompts: Chocolate #17 (freedom), Passionfruit #28 (But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep) + Brownie + Malt – Valentine Box ( _A thousand lives walk through my own/ I stand still and stand alone_ from ichthusfish) & Birthday prompt ( _There really is nothing quite like watching fools dig their own graves_ from shayna611)
> 
> Notes/warning: marital troubles, spies, suicidal ideation.

Julia had once accused Edward of proposing to her only because he wanted a wife who couldn’t run away from him. She hadn’t meant it, but it was now proving to be uncomfortably true. She needed to go away for a few days, if nothing else, and couldn’t think of anywhere she could run to, at least not with a plausible excuse as to why. His cousin Amy would have her (or indeed Nancy, or Aunt Anne and Uncle Ted, or even Aunt Daisy if it came to it), but Julia drew the line at staying with Edward’s relatives while she thought about leaving him.

She knew, of course, that she was making too much out of what Marie Werner had told her, but it was more complicated than that. Whatever Edward might think about her being a spy, and no matter how little that weighed against everything they’d built together, or how she felt about him and Emily, she couldn’t allow herself to ignore it any longer. As it was, she’d done very little, and United Europe were a peaceful organisation, frequently not even taken as seriously as they hoped to be, but if she remained while Edward’s career progressed, if he became a cabinet minister, it wouldn’t have to be anything more to potentially destroy them. 

She had to do something about it, and she couldn’t stay here like this, shrinking away from Edward in her disgust at herself. If she stayed, she’d give in sooner rather than later, and bury her head in the sand – or in his jacket more probably – and pretend to herself that it would all come right in the end. Well, it wasn’t all right now, and it certainly wouldn’t be if they carried on like this – if _she_ carried on like this.

The first thing she had done, after two days of inward misery and shame, was to meet her current contact with the organisation. She hated to break with them, because she also owed them a great deal, particularly for helping her when she’d been left in Berlin after the war and couldn’t find the heart in her to make her way home again. Her younger brother had had connections to them, too. She’d always liked to think she was carrying on something he’d started. It was why she’d never been able to let go before. 

However, she wasn’t doing them much good, either, half-heartedly telling them things she heard or observed, refusing to raid Edward’s study for documents or listen at keyholes. She had never promised them anything more than what they’d call weather reports. Her current contact, Alec, had been more forceful than the others, asking her to try harder, saying that times were changing, that things were getting worse by the day, but she’d just pointed out that there wasn’t much she could do with Edward in opposition. 

Alec hadn’t taken her suggestion of withdrawing well. She’d have thought he wouldn’t even have been surprised, let alone disappointed, but he turned on her and accused her of sacrificing ideals for a comfortable life – which was true, she thought; it had always been true. Then he’d turned to threats: if she did pull out now he’d wait till after the election and then get some value out of her by telling everything to the press. It’d get the organisation some publicity at least.

“You couldn’t prove anything,” Julia said.

“I don’t need to. And if your husband doesn’t win, well, I can make sure he knows about you.”

That was less of a threat, since Edward had always known, but Julia couldn’t let her contact know that. She shrugged. “I doubt he’d believe you.”

“Maybe,” Alec said. “In fact, I’ve had a better thought. You let us down like that, and you’ll find out what it is. We’ll get our money’s worth after all. That’s a promise.”

Julia would have liked to laugh at him, but she felt uncomfortably sure he was serious. She had to get away and try and work out what to do before it was too late.

 

In the end, she went to Diana Foyle and begged her to invite her down to Devon the next week, where she was staying in a friend’s holiday cottage. She wasn’t sure how Diana would take it, but she didn’t think she would ignore a direct appeal for help.

“I don’t mind you coming at all,” said Diana. “It won’t be exciting, though. I usually go for long walks along the cliff-tops and read a lot – not very sociable, you know.”

Julia nearly laughed. “I want to get away and think, so it’s perfect. I’ll try not to be a bother.”

“That’s all very well, but won’t Edward think it a little odd? Must we be so cloak and dagger about it?”

Julia drew in an uneven breath. “I don’t mean to be unreasonable, but he’ll worry much less that way. And I really do need some time – I can’t explain, but it is important.”

“Yes,” said Diana, regarding her with wariness. “I’m sure. Just one thing: I’m happy to help, my dear, I honestly am, but if this is any sort of way to leave or to meet someone else – I don’t want to have any part in it.”

Julia leant forward. “No, of course not. I promise.”

 

“I wish you’d tell me what’s wrong,” Edward said, as he carried Julia’s case out to the car. Julia had been in such an odd mood for the last few days, without any real explanation. She’d withdrawn in ways that were so unlike her that he was alarmed. Her decision to go away had only worried him more. Diana’s invitation had clearly been staged; he could tell that much.

Julia turned. “Ned, I told you. Nothing’s wrong. Am I not allowed to help Diana out and have a holiday? If Amy hadn’t wanted Emily, it would have been different. You needn’t worry. I shall certainly be back in time to show my face at as many meetings and events as you wish.”

“You know that wasn’t what I meant,” Edward said, his irritation showing through. He shut the boot a little too sharply. He looked over at her, as she headed back in through the door, going to fetch Emily. She’d been so carefully pretending that everything was normal that he didn’t know how to begin to say what he wanted. Even if he did, in this mood, she’d probably only lie in response. “Julia –” he began. When she turned, he shrugged. “Have a nice time,” he finished.

Perhaps he was being unreasonable, imagining things because he was on edge about the upcoming election. She might (understandably) still be annoyed about the business with Marie or even something else. Maybe she was annoyed with him for not working out what it was she was annoyed about.

“Thank you, Edward,” she said, and when he followed her into the hallway, as Mrs Crosbie came down the stairs with Emily, she let him kiss her on the cheek in farewell.

He swallowed, and tried again. “Julia –”

She raised an eyebrow as she crouched down to pick up Emily. “Yes? Oh, darling, say goodbye to Daddy.”

Edward gave up; what with Julia resolutely refusing to acknowledge there was a problem, and Emily to be fussed over, and Mrs Crosbie watching from behind, it wasn’t the moment. Anyway, it was disloyal and stupidly melodramatic of him to feel so afraid that she might not come back again.

 

All she needed was a little space and time to think, away from Edward. Julia had felt so sure of that, but now she only found herself going over and over the same seemingly insoluble problem and still getting nowhere. Whatever she did, she couldn’t behave well. If she called Alec’s bluff or ran away, she betrayed the United Europe movement, and if she gave into their requests and carried on as she was, then she must betray Edward as she never had before. 

Be honest, she thought, either way she betrayed Edward. And leaving was the unselfish thing to do, wasn’t it? She might still be able to find other people in the movement, find somewhere to go, no matter how frightening matters were getting in some places on the continent. It was better than staying and ruining his career or forever going behind his back, stealing documents and listening at keyholes. She’d never done that yet and she’d sworn she never would. 

Except, of course, she couldn’t leave. She didn’t want to leave Edward – hated the thought with every atom of her being – but even more, she could not, would not, leave Emily behind, and she could never take her with her. Even if she had somewhere safe to go, she couldn’t steal Emily from Edward. 

So, she must stay, and try harder at giving the movement something useful. Edward didn’t trust her anyway – hadn’t the last week or so proved that already? With that, she thought again of Marie Werner, sitting in the living room, telling her how unthinkable she’d found the idea of spying on her husband. The circumstances weren’t the same, and Julia knew it, but the shame still threatened to crush her.

 

Diana had been out all day, meeting a friend. When she came in later, Julia glanced up briefly in greeting, and saw Diana’s face lose her smile as she raised an eyebrow at Julia.

“My dear,” Diana said, removing her hat and coat. “What have you been doing with yourself? Whatever it was, I don’t think it agrees with you.”

“Oh, I went for a walk and read a book,” said Julia, lifting her head and leaning back in the chair, her movements listless. She still had the book open in her lap, but she couldn’t have told Diana what it was.

“Did you?” Diana said. “Hmm. You have at least eaten, I trust?”

Julia nodded, although she’d only remembered to make herself a sandwich a little over half an hour ago.

“You know, I hate to be interfering,” Diana added, “but this is supposed to be my holiday and while I’m happy to have you here, it is a little off-putting to share a house with someone so set on making themselves miserable.” She sat down next to Julia on the hard, old sofa. “It isn’t too late to drive you down to the pub – they’ve got a phone there, if you wanted to call Edward.”

Julia shook her head, panicking at the idea. If she spoke to Edward, she’d go back; she wouldn’t be able to help it, and then she’d ruin him.

“Are you sure?” said Diana, leaning forward in concern. “I’m the last person to give you any advice when it comes to marriage – but you know there are reasons that Stephen and I talk as rarely as we can help. You and Edward – now, that’s another matter, isn’t it?”

Julia swallowed. “If I’m being a nuisance, I can go, of course. I didn’t mean to spoil things for you. And, honestly, I just had a quiet day – a little bit of a headache this afternoon, that’s all.”

“You’re welcome to stay for the week,” said Diana. “And I shan’t mention it again unless you want me to, but in my experience most things are a lot easier if you just talk it over with someone. If you won’t speak to Edward, then can you tell me?”

Julia raised her head and tightened her hold on the book. “There isn’t anything to tell. I am sorry if I’m being a bit gloomy – I’ll try harder tomorrow.” 

“Julia –”

“I know you mean to be kind,” said Julia, turning her head towards Diana, “and I am grateful. It’s just one of those things and I need to work through it on my own.”

She gave a slight smile, and drew back. “All right. I shall leave you alone – but the offer stays open. Both offers. Now, would you like some hot chocolate?”

“Yes, please,” said Julia, and managed a smile.

 

Being in the middle of an election campaign meant that things were busy enough for Edward to try and not think too hard about Julia not being there or why she had gone. Still, he was glad, on the Wednesday, to go home and have some peace again. He managed to remember to telephone Amy to say goodnight to Emily before he left the campaign office. When he got home, he gave the telephone in the hall a rather hopeful look. It was halfway through the week and if Julia was going to call, then surely it would be tonight? The cottage would be unlikely to have a phone, but there would be a public one somewhere in the village.

“Oh, Mr Iveson,” said Mrs Crosbie, emerging into the hallway, on the point of leaving. “I was running a little late, and here you are, early. Well, I’ve finished everything and your dinner’s in the oven –”

He said goodbye a little awkwardly, wondering uneasily if he had spoken aloud about wishing Julia would call. Then he turned as she was about to open the door. “Mrs Crosbie, there still seems to be a problem with the sink. Wasn’t somebody supposed to see to it last week? Didn’t they turn up?”

“Oh, yes,” she said. “Well, Mrs Iveson was going to, but she didn’t get around to it before that woman arrived, and then I didn’t like to press her. She seemed a little upset, if you don’t mind me saying.”

Edward hung up his overcoat. He didn’t mind her saying; it was rather a relief to know that someone else had noticed something amiss. “What woman?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Mrs Crosbie. “Mrs Iveson went to the door. American, I think she was. The thing is, I took the liberty of phoning the plumber myself yesterday because I thought –”

He nodded, cutting in hastily, fastening in alarm on the first half of her speech and not the second. “Yes, of course. Quite right! Thank you.”

“Yes, well,” said Mrs Crosbie, departing with a rather offended backward glance at him. “I might see you tomorrow, then, Mr Iveson.”

“Oh, dear Lord,” said Edward, once she’d actually gone. Marie had left a note, but he hadn’t dreamed that she would have delivered it in person. Anyway, he thought, it couldn’t be that – Marie would never try to make trouble, and he didn’t believe Julia would listen if she did. On the other hand, as coincidences went, it was too uncomfortably large a one for him to ignore. What could either of them possibly have said to the other to cause even part of Julia’s sudden distress? Edward could only speculate uselessly, since Marie was on a boat back to America and Julia was somewhere in Devon and equally unreachable for the moment. 

“Damn,” he said, and did the only thing he could do in the meantime, and went to investigate the contents of the oven.

He couldn’t stop himself from coming back to the question over and over as the evening progressed, even if it still got him nowhere. Determined to try and take his mind off it, he went in search of a book, but just as he found the one he’d been reading, there was a knock at the door.

“Mr Iveson,” said Ronald Whittaker, who was standing on the step when he opened it. “I’m sorry I’m a little late.” He glanced up, seeing Edward’s blank look, and stopped. “Oh. I’m sorry – is it not still convenient? I’m sorry, but I thought quarter of an hour shouldn’t be –”

Edward gave him a smile and held the door open wider for him. “No, no, it’s fine. Do come in. It’s just that I’m afraid I’d forgotten for the moment. I do seem to have a bad habit of forgetting my engagements.” Julia usually reminded him, he thought guiltily. “Now what was it you wanted to talk about?”

“Oh,” said Whittaker, still sounding uncertain as he followed Edward into the study. “Only a small matter. It’s probably a bit of a cheek, really, but I thought you could give me some advice. You see, I was speaking a week or two back in the town hall, and I was as prepared as I could be for all the local issues and so on, and then someone asked about our foreign policy – a matter of East Africa, I think. He had a brother out there. Anyway, all I could say was that I’d find out and of course I felt like a fool. Then you gave that speech the other day, and I thought – well, you can see. It is a bloody cheek, isn’t it?”

Edward laughed. “Nothing of the sort. Sit down. Would you like a drink?”

“Er, no thanks,” said Whittaker, looking around him as he took the nearest chair. “Mrs Iveson won’t mind?”

“I shouldn’t think so. She’s not here,” Edward told him. “She and my daughter are away, and so I finally have some peace and quiet and the house to myself – and, naturally, now I have it, I don’t appreciate it. Consider yourself a welcome interruption. So, what was this question?”

 

Julia was lying in the cottage’s spare room, suffering another largely sleepless night. She had finally dozed off, only to be woken again almost immediately by the first notes of the dawn chorus outside. “Oh,” she said in muffled annoyance from underneath the covers. Everything kept going round and round in her mind till her head wouldn’t stop aching. She couldn’t leave, she couldn’t stay, she couldn’t explain to Edward – what on earth was she supposed to do?

She was running out of time, and she still hadn’t come up with a solution. She turned over in the bed and buried her head in the old feather pillow, as if trying to hide from the answers she didn’t want. Then she sighed, and sat up, deciding that enough was enough. She would get up now and go for a walk along the cliff tops, or down on the beach, and see if that cleared her mind a little, or at least helped her sleep again.

 

It was growing lighter by the time she reached the beach, dawn breaking through the darkness and the clouds. The air was chilly and damp with the mist, but it felt better than being shut in the cottage. She let the breeze blow through her hair and closed her eyes, trying again to think.

What she had to do was to decide on the least worst option, that was all, and, really, she knew what that was: she should leave and then Edward and Emily would be free of her and her connections and untrustworthiness. Ignoring that was selfish.

As she always did once she reached that point, something in her rebelled: she didn’t want to, and she’d probably long since gone past any sort of logic over this. It seemed now to have no end and no beginning. _I’d rather die_ , she thought. It would be easier. And Julia looked up then, out at the sea and trembled at the idea, because she could. 

She walked out to meet the waves and the incoming tide, ironically feeling abruptly more alive again at the idea. It would only involve a moment’s foolishness on her part; it would be a tragic accident, and then everything would be resolved without betraying anyone, or at least no one would know she had betrayed them.

A sudden wilder wave washed the water over her feet, and the unexpected coldness of it jolted her back to herself. She closed her eyes, on the point of tears. She wouldn’t do this; she knew that really. 

Except, she thought, almost dreamily in her exhaustion, as she took one more step forwards, she wouldn’t have to do anything, would she? All she had to do was stay standing here, sand and shingle shifting dizzily under her feet, and the tide would take her.

She wouldn’t, of course, but just now it was a temptation; it felt almost a comforting idea. She wouldn’t, but she _could_. Everything ended one way or another, after all. She watched the colours of dawn stretch across the sky and nearly managed a smile. She should go back now, of course – she was shivering already at the cold and the last wave had reached her ankles – but she didn’t want to walk away from that sense of freedom.

“Julia!”

Julia didn’t turn. She pretended that she hadn’t heard. Once she acknowledged Diana, it would all come back – the feeling of being trapped, the need to make a decision she didn’t want to. Better to stay with this sense of abdication for as long as she could.

Diana arrived beside her, splashing through the water with a small sound of dismay that Julia might have found amusing at any other time. “Julia!” she said again, out of breath. She caught hold of Julia’s wrist. “Oh, God, you’re frozen,” she said. “Julia, come back with me at once!”

It was a relief to be told what to do. Julia risked looking at Diana, and then away again, unsure of anything. She let the other woman lead her back up the beach towards the path back to the cliff top.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Diana demanded, but then shot Julia another look, and sighed. “Never mind. Just hurry up and follow me before you catch your death.” She caught hold of Julia’s hand and pulled her on up, away from the sea. Julia was shivering uncontrollably now and needed the help, her feet and stockings drenched and everything else damp from the air and the sea spray.

Once they got to the top, Julia collapsed onto the grass, but Diana crouched down, and said, “No, no. It’s only five minutes or so to the cottage and you can’t stay there!” She surveyed Julia, and sighed again. Then she pulled off her raincoat and put it around Julia’s shoulders, helping her back to her feet. “No, come on, Julia. This way!”

 

Back in the spare bedroom, with the sunlight beginning to creep in through the cracks in the curtains, Julia continued to do as she was told, climbing out of her damp clothes, and pulling on her nightdress, finding it hard to keep her teeth from chattering.

“Here,” said Diana, returning with a cup of hot milk. “Now, you drink that. I’ve put some brandy in it. And then you can stay there and go back to sleep till a more reasonable hour, when I shall be expecting an explanation. I don’t need to lock you in, do I?”

Julia closed her eyes as she held onto the white china cup, the warmth of it being the first that seemed to have reached her in what felt like hours. Then she looked up again at Diana, wearing some hastily thrown on clothes, her fair hair hanging round her face instead of elegantly pinned up, and felt a pang of guilt. “I’m s-sorry,” she said, still shivering. “I didn’t mean – I swear, Diana, really –”

“All right,” said Diana more softly, sitting on the side of the bed. “Don’t say anything now. Just you drink that as soon as it’s cooled a little and get a bit of sleep for a change. You needn’t worry about anything else yet.”

Julia cautiously risked a sip of the milk. “Please, though – you won’t t-tell Edward?”

“No,” said Diana, “or at least not until I’ve heard what you’ve got to say for yourself. Although I like your concern now, given what I might have had to tell him if I hadn’t –” She stopped, swallowing, and then shook herself. “Well, as I said. We’ll worry about all that later.”

Julia stared down at the cup again. She was close to tears again. She’d exhausted herself, she recognised. She really had no one to blame but herself. “Th-thank you.”

 

When Julia woke again, it was still light and she blinked, feeling disorientated. She still felt tired, and her head ached, but she also felt distinctly more human. She sat up, remembering as she did so, what had happened earlier, what she could have done, and putting her hands to her face as she recognised the enormity of it. How could she have let herself get to such a point? Then she shut her eyes and drew in her breath as she steeled herself to get up and face Diana again.

 

“Julia,” said Diana, looking up as she walked into the cottage’s crowded and dark living room. “How do you feel?”

Julia took a tentative step inside and then shut the door behind her. She struggled to find something to say in response. “I’m sorry,” she managed eventually. “I – I suppose I should say thank you.”

“Oh, sit down,” said Diana. “All I want for now is some sort of explanation. We’ll come back to me having you eternally in my debt some other time.”

Julia sat down gratefully, finding that she still felt shaken.

“That was a joke,” Diana said, watching her. “The last part, I mean, not the first.”

“I –” said Julia and simply failed to get any further. She looked back at Diana.

Diana moved out of her chair and across to Julia. “How would you like a cup of tea and some bread and butter? You’ve missed both breakfast and lunch, after all.”

“Thank you,” said Julia. By the time that had been accomplished, she felt a little more like herself and, hugging one of the embroidered cushions, she attempted to explain again. “I didn’t mean anything,” she said. “I couldn’t sleep and thought some air might help. I would have come back anyway, you know. I would have done.”

Diana rested her chin on her hands and surveyed her thoughtfully. “My dear,” she said eventually, her tone unusually soft, “I don’t know what you intended, but you wouldn’t have done if you’d stayed there for much longer. I thought I warned you to be careful along the shore round here – it’s very easy to get cut off by the tide and then –” She gave an elegant shrug of her shoulders and then leant back in her chair. 

“Oh,” said Julia, and thought that she did remember Diana saying something about it, along with a whole lot of other information on arriving. She had to blink back tears again. She seemed to have brought herself to an odd state of exhaustion where almost anything could make her cry. “I honestly had forgotten. Diana, I promise that wasn’t why I asked to come with you. I wouldn’t do that.”

Diana bit her lip, evidently thinking before she spoke again. “I did wonder for a moment, but I believe you. But, forgive me, it was rather odd – that’s why I followed you down there. I had it in my head that you might use this as a chance to run away – leave Edward. I don’t know why, but I did. Just as well, it turns out, although I take it that isn’t true, either?”

“I came here to think about it,” said Julia, and it sounded so odd and unreal to say it aloud. “But whatever I decided, I wouldn’t have done that. I was trying to work myself up to it – how on earth to tell him, if I did.”

Diana was still watching her, careful of her responses. “You know, while I’d be a hypocrite to offer advice on the subject, I can’t see why the hell you’re even thinking about it if the idea makes you that miserable. Tell me you’ve been unhappy, Edward’s been unkind, tell me there’s someone else, and that’s your business, but this – what is this even about?”

“Me,” said Julia, with a tremulous laugh. “Oh, I can’t explain, but there _are_ reasons. What was stupid was getting myself so wound up that I couldn’t think straight. And it’s not Edward, don’t think that.”

Diana shook her head. “Then for heaven’s sake, go home and talk to him. Anything else is beginning to remind me of the kind of overwrought plays I detest.”

“You may be right,” said Julia, too tired to argue, though she knew there was still no way she could explain any of this to Edward.

“Of course I am. If you’ve reached the point of – of – well.” Diana paused, catching her breath, still shaken by the day’s events herself. “It’s not that I don’t sympathise, my dear, but it’s not the answer. I was in a similar place once myself, and now look at me – they let me make scathing speeches to pompous old men and be paid for it. I think that’s a much better alternative.”

Julia pressed herself back into the seat, feeling guilty. She knew Diana had had a good deal more to put up with than she had, and still did. “Yes, of course,” she said. And since both leaving and any more drastic options were obviously impossible, that left only one thing to do. It was perfectly simple after all. All she had to do was to accept who she was. Julia leant her head against the side of the chair with a sigh. Other people seemed to think that was a good thing, but as far as she was concerned, it meant only defeat.

 

If it wasn’t all so miserable, it would be funny, Julia thought, as she returned home. She couldn’t help breathing out in relief just to be back again, knowing that she wasn’t going to leave. She could have saved all that time and trouble, scaring Diana and no doubt worrying Edward, and stayed here.

She called out, in case Edward was around, although she didn’t expect him to be. There was no answer, so she set her face, and walked into his study, where she set about going through the drawers, searching for something she could use, just to show good faith to Alec and the movement. It wouldn’t be easy, she knew. Edward was always careful about what he brought home and what he left here. Still, she’d thought about it seriously on the way back and had decided the best thing to do was to see if she could find anything that would give the UE an insight into the Shadow Cabinet, given that it might become the real one very soon.

She managed to find some minutes and a letter to Edward from Amyas Harding, and photographed them carefully, before filing them away again. She replaced the camera in its cupboard and took the film with her, putting it into her coat pocket as she set out to leave it in its designated place.

She could do it, she thought. It wasn’t new or surprising; it was just about being realistic about the cost of what she wanted to keep.

 

That accomplished, Julia walked into the hallway for the second time, an hour and a half after the first, carrying her suitcase. As she put it down, she bit back a startled cry at realising that Edward was standing there in the hallway, close to the telephone. He turned on hearing her, seemingly equally surprised.

“Julia,” he said, finding his voice first. He sounded wary, she thought.

She put the suitcase down. “Edward,” she said, and thought suddenly that she might cry again. She’d spent so much of this week trying to work out how to leave him, one way or another, and all she’d learnt was that she never would now. She gave him a tentative smile. “It’s good to see you.”

“Yes, it is,” he agreed, more warmly. “I mean, to see you. You’re early, that’s all.”

Julia gave a slight laugh. “Oh, I’d had enough time away, and I thought this way we could go and collect Emily together tomorrow – have dinner with Amy and see everyone properly before they have to go.”

“Good idea,” said Edward, and then moved forward to put a hand to her shoulder, and kiss her cheek, but he still seemed uncertain of something. He drew back and looked at her closely. “Julia,” he said. “Don’t you think it’s time you explained?”

Julia swallowed. “I told you, Edward. Must I apologise for having a holiday?”

“No, of course not,” said Edward, “but you had such a look on your face when you left – I thought you weren’t coming back.”

She closed her eyes and felt cold again, as if still breathing in the chilly, damp air, and feeling the cold spray and the waves and water around her legs. She shivered. “Ned, no. That was never – it was only something – something I can’t talk about – but that’s just not true. And anyway, it’s all over now, I promise.”

Edward reached out to her, and then pulled her in against him, his arms around her, and she breathed out in relief. She felt, though, that wariness in him still, a slight tenseness in his body, and she didn’t have anything to say to reassure him. She merely hung onto him in return and felt then, a moment or two later, the resistance easing out of him.

“And if I could talk about it,” she said, turning her head slightly, somewhere between exhaustion and an odd sort of defiance, “I wouldn’t want to, not now, not yet. I don’t want – I don’t want to _talk_.”

He kissed her head and smoothed down her hair. “No, no, not now. It’s all right.”

Julia thought it probably wasn’t, not really, but it was easy to pretend it could be. She shifted in his hold, putting her arms around his neck and kissing him. He gave a small sigh of relief, and leant against her, before kissing her in return, more passionately than she’d expected. She found herself pressed against the coats on the coat rack, feeling the uneven softness of the lining and the awkwardly placed buttons behind her.

“I should take my case upstairs,” she murmured to him, after a moment.

“Yes, of course,” he said, but it was the case that stayed downstairs.

 

“We’re early,” said Edward, glancing at his watch as Julia reached for her coat.

She raised an eyebrow. “Not very, darling, and I don’t suppose Amy will mind. Besides, I don’t want to wait any longer to see Emily. I didn’t manage to phone every evening, with it not being in the house, and I’ll be happy again when I know she’s all right.”

“Well, I did manage it,” Edward told her with a sudden smile. “Amy says there were tears at bedtime the first night, but she’s been fine other than that. As far as I can gather, there seem to have been several pirate voyages and something involving a giant cat that I don’t think I can have been following properly.”

Julia laughed as she checked herself in the mirror in the hall and buttoned up her blue jacket. “Of course. But I do want to see her, Ned, so don’t let’s stand here –”

“Julia,” said Edward, interrupting, his expression serious again. He caught at her wrist, leading her back into the sitting room. “We have a few minutes, and we must talk. I don’t want to spoil things last night, but I’m rather afraid if we don’t now, we never will.”

Which, thought Julia, feeling rebellious, would be fine by her. She only looked back at him, though, and waited.

“What were you doing this week?” he asked, shutting the door behind them and then turning to face her. “And please don’t lie this time. I know Diana didn’t invite you, and I know – I know that Marie called here. I also know what happened Thursday and I know –” He hesitated, looking away from her again. “I know what you did when you came home.” Before she could say anything, he added, “The first time.”

Julia had expected him to ask again about her reasons for going, but the rest made her blink in surprise, and she stared back at him. “Well,” she said, eventually when she regained her breath, “in that case, I don’t see that I need to tell you anything! Have you been having me watched?”

“No, of course not,” said Edward. “Julia! It was merely – oh, let’s say that all these facts fell into my possession, but what I don’t know is why. They must be connected, surely, but I simply don’t see. Please, Julia.”

Julia folded her arms. “But how could you know any of that? Well, Thursday – I suppose Diana must have telephoned you after all. I can understand why she would, but – oh, I wish she hadn’t! It wasn’t at all what it must have sounded like.”

“Then I’m relieved to hear it,” said Edward. “And I don’t think she did it lightly. As for Marie, Mrs Crosbie mentioned it. She said that you had been upset and forgotten to call the plumber.”

“So I did,” said Julia, instantly distracted. “Oh, dear! And I meant to do it before I left! I suppose you haven’t, despite your sudden omniscience?”

“Mrs Crosbie has, and the sink has been fixed, but that really isn’t the point –”

“Only because you don’t do the washing up,” said Julia.

Edward moved forward. “Julia, I’m serious. Don’t try to change the subject. It’s as you said to me – just tell me something here, or what am I to think?”

“What about the last thing?” said Julia. “There’s no possible way you could know that unless you were having me watched!”

He put a hand to his head, a gesture of both frustration and weariness. “I was here, that was all. I had been working from the study, and I had a headache – I hadn’t slept well – so I went to lie down for half an hour, and, of course, fell asleep till you woke me coming in.”

“And so, naturally, instead of calling out, you crept down the stairs and spied on me?” said Julia.

Edward shrugged. “I heard something – that was what woke me – but I wasn’t sure. And when I came downstairs, I could see you. In the study.”

Julia closed her eyes, her cheeks hot with embarrassment. Though, really, she thought, anyone else would have stormed in and demanded an explanation then and there, wouldn’t they? But Edward stood back and merely watched as she rifled his study. She lifted her head again, and looked at him.

“It was part of the agreement,” he said, shifting defensively. “It was, though, disconcerting to see it.”

Julia swallowed back sudden anger. All that worrying, all week, and Edward thought she went through his study on a regular basis, anyway? “That was the first time,” she said, as steadily as she could. “I’ve never done that before – never! I don’t care what you thought, but that was never what I agreed to, or what I wanted to do. I gave the organisation things I heard and thought – and nothing else!”

“I didn’t exactly think you did it often,” said Edward, as if that made it better. “I’d imagine if you did, you’d be a little more practised – you’d have thought to close the door at least.”

Julia quivered with something between anger and sheer disbelief. “Oh, Ned, darling, thank you for the advice! Just in case you’re lurking somewhere in the house, watching me, I suppose!”

“I’m sorry,” he said, looking back at her helplessly.

She sat down. “That was the only time I’ve ever done that,” she said again, more calmly, though her fingers as she laid them on her lap weren’t steady. She was still feeling angry with him for it. She’d already begun to suspect she’d done the wrong thing, and now she found that he could have stopped her, if he’d only said something. “And you were there?”

He nodded, crouching down beside the chair. “Yes. I’m afraid so. And then you left – and before you came back, Diana telephoned.”

Julia closed her eyes. Yesterday, he’d been in the hallway, standing by the telephone. She put her hand to her mouth. 

“Why, Julia?” he said again. “Tell me something at least.”

She drew in her breath, and looked at him. “There are some things you can’t tell me, aren’t there? Official things. Well, this is the same for me. Really, it wasn’t anything new – it wasn’t anything at all – I just got myself in a state over it, and then I forgot about the tides and scared Diana. That’s all. Don’t you think we should go, before we end up being late?”

“Julia,” he said, not moving and ignoring her efforts at ending the conversation, “don’t use me as an example. I was wrong, not telling you about Marie. You were right; it was all just, well, cowardice, I suppose.”

Julia shrugged. “Oh, that. It isn’t that, I promise. Mrs Werner explained to me, anyway – trying to be kind, I think. It’s all right, Edward. It really doesn’t matter.”

“It _does_ ,” he said, beginning to sound irritated, and he reached for her hand. “Julia, that isn’t enough, not for this.”

“You don’t like it when it’s the other way around, do you?”

He quirked his mouth slightly in acknowledgement. “Who does?” he said, with fleeting dry humour. “But this – I can’t leave it here. _Is_ it over? I don’t know that, and until I do, it would be irresponsible, callous even, of me to ignore it. If you can’t tell me, you could see someone else –”

“Edward,” said Julia, getting to her feet, “I’ve told you all that I can, and if you want to know, all I’ve been doing is just what you knew about all along – what you asked me to do when you first made this arrangement between us. Are you going to complain now?”

He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t get up, and she knew that thrust had gone home. She felt momentary satisfaction at the fact, and then a pang of guilt. “Edward, we really must go, don’t you think?”

 

He was silent in the car, though he kept looking across at her, as if he wanted to start the subject up again, but Julia kept her gaze resolutely ahead, not giving him any encouragement. What else could she tell him, anyway?

Eventually, Edward said, “Well, you could at least be more careful if you’re going to do that sort of thing. I could have been anyone.”

“Inside the house?” said Julia, raising an eyebrow. “Really? The only other person it could have been was Mrs Crosbie, and Mrs Crosbie doesn’t lurk in the hallway. She knocks on doors and talks to people – and she would have replied when she heard me call out. That, Edward, is what normal people do.”

“Oh, well, far be it from me to inconvenience anyone who might be in the house stealing things, sorry,” he said, half under his breath.

Julia stared ahead again, colouring slightly, and refused to reply.

“I didn’t mean you,” he added hastily. “It was just – nothing. Julia!”

She swallowed and clenched her hands into fists on her lap. “Yes. Yes, you did, and you’re right, of course.”

“Oh, God,” said Edward, rather too impatiently. “Julia, can’t you be reasonable for two minutes together?”

She turned finally towards him. “You know, I think that from now on, you should concentrate on driving, I’ll concentrate on ignoring you, and then when we arrive at Amy’s we might manage to be civil to each other and everyone else. Does that sound reasonable enough to you?”

 

It was impossible to keep up the quarrel at Amy’s, with the whole family there and Emily so excited to see them and eager to share her adventures, but it didn’t go away. There was an underlying strain between them, and Edward wasn’t sure what to do about it. He still wasn’t even sure exactly what it was that had happened. He guessed that the organisation had made some demand on her, but what it had been or how it could possibly have had any connection to Marie’s reappearance was beyond him.

Julia was still trying to pretend nothing was wrong, so perhaps he was building mountains out of molehills, but he couldn’t overlook what Diana Foyle had told him. Perhaps she had misread things, but she was one of the sharpest people he knew and not easily shaken by a mere accident.

Edward thought about the wheels he’d set in motion to help Marie, angry enough to consider how he might use those same contacts to bring down the British branch of the UE. They were small and not very well organised, and he was certain it wouldn’t be difficult with a word or two in the right places. The trick would be to manage it without implicating Julia, and, depending on what it was she’d done, that might now be impossible. 

He sighed and pushed such ethically questionable thoughts aside again before he got too irate with both Julia for maintaining such a stubborn silence, and himself, because so much of it was undeniably his fault. He stared ahead, sitting on the bed, unseeing, as he pulled off his tie, while Julia was at the dressing table.

“Edward,” she said, and he glanced over at her. She gave him a small smile, and then pulled her hair out of the way, tilting her head as a gesture to indicate that she wanted help with the clasp of her necklace. “If you don’t mind.”

“Of course,” he said, his spirits rising, as he crossed over. He was ruefully amused at the fact that he’d missed a tentative effort at conciliation from her all evening, lost in his worry. The necklace was one he’d given her years ago for their first Christmas and he knew she didn’t usually wear it with that green dress (it had the wrong sort of neck, she said). As for the gesture . . . he smiled to himself, as he unfastened the clasp, and kissed the back of her neck where it had been.

Julia turned towards him instantly, the tension in her shoulders lessening visibly. “Oh, Ned. I’m sorry; I really am. It’s just that I couldn’t tell you – I still can’t – and then I was so angry with myself and I took it out on you. All I was trying to do was put things right – and the terrible thing is, I let myself get into such a state that I think I may have made everything worse. But it wasn’t anything you did; this was my fault.”

“No, no,” he said, and then made himself continue. There was an offer he had to make, and he had to do it in earnest, or they couldn’t go on. It would be too unfair. “Julia, I don’t know what’s been happening, but I suspect you were right about it being my fault in the first place. Listen, if I stood down – if I resigned – would it help?”

She looked up at him in surprise. “But you can’t. I wouldn’t ask you to – I wouldn’t want you to.”

“I could, however,” said Edward, with a slight smile. “Easily. That’s one way in which I am fortunate. I would rather not, obviously, but there are other things I could do. It wouldn’t be the end of the world.”

Julia closed her eyes, and shook her head.

“I’m serious,” he said. “I asked you to do this, and all because I wanted an excuse to hide behind, something with which to justify my selfishness. I might regret walking away from politics – perhaps – but that I can certainly live with. Whereas if something happened to you, or even if this – whatever this is – came between us, that I don’t think I could live with. So, I am serious, Julia. Say the word.”

She hadn’t opened her eyes. “I don’t think it would help,” she said, evidently still locked inside the problem that she wouldn’t share with him. “But I do appreciate you offering.”

“Well, consider it,” he said. “And for heaven’s sake, don’t thank me. I don’t think I could have any respect left for myself if I didn’t at least suggest it.”

Julia stood up and kissed him on the cheek. “It won’t help,” she said, her voice flattened by weariness. “Not now. I wish it could. No, you see, Ned, I’ve been unrealistic about things, but I’m learning at last.”

She walked on then, heading into the bathroom, and Edward sat back down on the bed in momentary defeat, before his expression hardened into one of determination. He would have to find out what she meant somehow – and put a stop to it if he could.


	55. Freedom Fighting (PG, 1956: Edward Iveson/Julia Graves)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The worst thing, sometimes, is how easy it is…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summer 1956; Julia Iveson, Edward Iveson. 
> 
> Prompts: Passionfruit #3 (Fear that makes faith may break faith), Papaya #19 (I’ve still got a few more tricks up my sleeve)
> 
> Notes/warnings: spies, trust issues etc. This piece ties up the loose ends from the last two, which each follow on closely.

It should have been a good year. The party was finally back in power, if only by a narrow majority, and Edward was in line to become Minister for State at the Foreign Office, but Julia couldn’t be happy about any of it. For one thing, Amy and her family had moved to Canada and there was a resulting hole in their lives, and for another, Edward’s political victory only made Julia’s defeat worse. She was caught between her United Europe contact who was insisting she be more active, and Edward, whose rise in standing would only make him more at risk from such behaviour.

She knew now that she should never have agreed to anything more when Alec, her contact, had asked for it. He’d made threats, but Julia had soon realised that the more information she gave him, the greater his hold over her. What she should have done was talk to Edward, but it was a difficult subject, too tangled up in other complications. Anyway, she’d been too angry and upset to see that as an option at the time. Besides, she thought now, as she prepared to leave for her assignation, what on earth could Edward have done if she had?

He had offered to resign, but Alec had not only threatened her with exposing her if Edward got into power, he’d made some equally dark threats about what he’d do if Edward had failed to get elected, or stood down, just in case it was due to Julia’s interference or not. It was getting out of hand and Alec had not only pressed her to pass on more information than she wanted; now he’d started asking for money, saying that communication with central headquarters was getting difficult. That might be true, of course, and it had only been small amounts so far, which she could manage from her old personal savings account, but she didn’t really believe him.

Julia sighed, and again checked the notes in the envelope, putting them into her bag, before she walked out into the hallway, only to find Edward waiting in front of the door.

“Ned!” she said, starting violently, thanks to her current guilty conscience. “What are you doing – trying to give me a heart attack?”

Edward moved forward, catching hold of her arm, and said, quietly, “Julia. Look, you’re going to meet your contact, aren’t you? Yes?”

Bemused, she nodded. He rarely referred to the organisation in any way; it was much safer not to, so she waited for him to explain, unable to help feeling alarmed.

“Well, then,” said Edward, “if you’d set off as planned, but when you get halfway or so, turn back. Then you should contact him by whatever method you use and tell him that you couldn’t risk meeting him because you were being followed.”

“I’m sorry?” said Julia, staring up at him. She felt her throat tighten with fear. “What do you mean? Who’s following me? Or is this something I’m supposed to lie to him about?”

Edward caught hold of her other arm. “No, no, you _will_ be followed. You have been for a while. But the point is, so is he. Once you tell him, your information will confirm his own observation, and he’ll have to break off contact, at least until it’s safe again.”

Julia tried to think what to say next. She had no idea how or why Edward had suddenly come to this point, but she could at least begin to see what he was getting at now. It might work, she thought, suddenly nervous at the idea. It would be a risk, but it might well get her out of this difficulty, and her decision wasn’t truly in question. She knew she’d do what Edward asked, both because this business with Alec couldn’t go on and this was more hopeful than anything she’d been able to think of since April, and because she always would, when it came down to it. There was, however, no way she was going to make it that easy for him, though. He’d had her _followed_. She burned with anger again at the thought.

“How could you even know?” she asked. “How is that possible? Have you been lurking in the hallway again?”

He gave her a slight frown, as if he thought she was the one being unreasonable. “You said the problem was to do with the organisation, or you certainly implied that was the case.”

Edward was right, but Julia still shook her head. She’d been trying to keep him from this for months and she couldn’t quite let go yet.

“Someone’s been threatening you,” he said. “Haven’t they? This contact of yours, I presume. And given what that drove you to before, how could I let it go on? I am sorry about doing it this way, but you wouldn’t tell me.”

Julia muttered something about the pot calling the kettle black.

Edward had the grace to look aside and clear his throat. “I told you before, I was wrong about being so secretive over nothing. And, Julia, you’re giving him money, aren’t you?”

She clenched her fists, unsure which of them she disliked more for his being right about that.

“Julia,” he said, leaning down towards her. “Please, am I correct?”

“Yes, I suppose,” she said, and let out her breath, now that she’d admitted it. “But he was right – right about me caring more about my own comfort – about you and Emily. What could I say?”

Edward leant against the wall; a gesture of relief. “Then you’ll do what I ask? You’ll trust me?”

“Yes,” said Julia, drawing herself up, ready to go out. “And I do trust you – or I _did_ before you had me followed!”

He acknowledged that hit with a slight quirk of his mouth, and then he said, “I had to have you followed to find him. And it was also about safety. If he was making threats, I couldn’t risk him carrying them out – maybe even hurting you.”

Julia would have liked to laugh at him, and nearly did. It was a ridiculous idea, really, or it ought to be, but at the same time she had to admit that she’d felt unsettled by Alec, not being sure what lengths he might go to if pushed. He wasn’t like anyone else she’d worked with in the organisation before, and she’d always felt relieved when their meetings were over.

“Well,” she said, steeling herself to leave, “I’ll do as you say, and we’ll argue about the rest later.” Then she turned her head. “One thing, though – whatever you have in mind, you know he could easily take me down with him? It would ruin both of us.”

Edward leant forward. “I’m about as sure as I can be that he won’t.”

“But not absolutely certain?”

“Nothing’s ever absolutely certain,” said Edward. “But you must know by now that I would never suggest it if I thought there was much danger of it.”

Yes, she thought to herself, but then she’d never dreamed he would employ someone to follow her, either. She decided it wasn’t worth pointing that out – yet, at least.

 

Julia did as Edward had instructed, walking halfway to the designated meeting point, and then turning back home again.

It took a while longer to get a note to the dead letter drop later, but when she returned, there was a reply from Alec telling her not to contact him again until he got in touch with her. She destroyed it carefully, but, no matter what she thought about Edward’s methods, she was still light-headed with relief at the possibility of an ending to something that had come close to crushing her. 

~o~

 

Edward heard her come back in, and he emerged into the hallway again, knowing that to avoid her was only dealying the inevitable, and she swung around to confront him.

“Now, explain,” she said, removing her hat with a vengeance. “My God, Edward, have you really been having me followed?”

Edward couldn’t quite stop himself: “Did you really not notice?”

She marched past him into the living room. “Why _should_ I? I’ve never been important enough to warrant that – and it had certainly never occurred to me that you might stoop to hiring a private detective!”

“Julia, you wouldn’t tell me what was going on, no matter how much I asked. And once I’d decided that it must be something to do with your new contact, I thought I had better know something about him. It was when I realised about the money that did it. That’s not the organisation’s style; that had to be him alone, and that was a very different matter. I couldn’t wait then.”

Julia put a hand to her head. “He said it was funding for a cell – oh, something like that. I was fairly sure it was a lie, but by then I didn’t see anything else I could do. I still don’t. He’s going to ruin us now.”

“No, he won’t,” said Edward, sitting down in the chair opposite her as she dropped down into the sofa. “You see, once that happened, I had you followed until you led us to him, and then I put this fellow onto him to try and find out something about him, hopefully even his real name. If he was resorting to such tactics, there was a good chance he might even have a record. That’s the difficulty of running a subversive group; you really can’t be sure of the staff, however careful you are.”

Julia glared at him.

“No, sorry,” said Edward. “Anyway, so it proved. A very unpleasant character by all accounts. I’m sorry that I couldn’t call off the man from tailing you at that point, but I was concerned for your safety. He sounded like the sort of person who might well be quite serious about carrying out any threats.”

“And at that point,” Julia said, “instead of carrying on with this insulting and expensive business, why didn’t you tell me?”

Edward contemplated lying at this point, but wasn’t sure it would help. “Well,” he said, and then cleared his throat, “you see, I rather thought you might give everything away.”

“How dare you!”

Edward glanced up again. “Julia, let’s be honest, despite everything, you’re not terribly good at hiding things or pretending.”

“As if I’m not always perfectly charming to even the most beastly politician you’ve ever brought home –”

“Yes, you are,” he said. “Almost always. But you’re always so careless about this – as if you don’t take it seriously. You don’t cover your tracks, and you don’t even look closely enough to spot whether or not you’re being followed.” He waved a hand. “Well, that’s true, but it’s not quite what I meant. You might have felt obliged to report this man to the organisation, but that would have left you still working for them. This way, I can also give you a way out, should you want it. You said to me that this was my fault, and so it is. Well, here’s a chance for me to undo that.”

Julia coloured. “I didn’t say that. Or not quite like that. I was angry, anyway. I don’t mean half I say when I’m angry.”

“Well, you were right,” he said, leaning forward. “And until then I had never been sure how much you wanted to be part of the organisation. I believe now that your heart isn’t in it, so I decided to give you that choice.”

She looked away from him, picking at the fabric on the arm on the sofa. “Don’t say things like that, not now. Anyway, I still don’t see how this is going to avoid everything ending in scandal, the ruin of your career, and very likely me in gaol. Or was that what you had in mind?”

“Yes, well, that part depends on your contact,” said Edward. “Alec, as you know him, or William Cannell as he seems to be more properly known. I’m fairly sure he’ll be co-operative.”

Julia stared at him. “My God, what are you planning now?”

 

Edward could have left ‘Alec’ to try and make his escape himself, as he undoubtedly would try and do following such an incident, but since Edward had put Superintendent Sheldon onto him, Alec might well be picked up by the police first, and if he was, it might cause trouble for Julia. That was a danger Edward wanted to avoid at all costs, so he made use of the information he’d gathered, and drove out to see him.

Alec opened the door, giving Edward his first look at the enemy in person: he was fairly nondescript in appearance – brown hair, brown eyes, medium build and height, with a slight roughness around the edges – and he was clearly wary of his unexpected caller.

“You know who I am?” said Edward, and the man gave a nod. “Then you’d better let me in, hadn’t you? Your house is still being watched.”

Alec let him in, and shut the door, watching him with a frown. “What do you want?”

“I thought it was time we had a conversation,” said Edward, removing his hat, and giving the mildewed wallpaper in the hall a glance of distaste. “You’ve been seeing far too much of my wife lately and I can’t say that I like it.”

Alec was still watching him, evidently still working out what Edward knew, what it was safe to say or not say.

“Yes,” said Edward, “let’s skip over what would no doubt be a very tedious round of fencing and denials. You see, I know who you are and what you’ve been doing. And I thought that someone who’d so swiftly turn to making threats as you have might, someone who was keen to have money in cash, even quite small sums – well, that suggests to me not only someone who works for the organisation, but perhaps has other reasons to want to avoid being found.”

Alec watched him, still keeping his distance. “You’ve admitted that you know,” he said. “I don’t think that’s the sort of behaviour they like in government circles. What if I tell someone about you?”

“You could tell,” said Edward, “but you couldn’t prove it, not with only your word against mine. As you said, I move in government circles, after all. I have all sorts of contacts, which is why the police have been keeping an eye on you for the last week or two. You’re aware of that, of course, and no doubt you’re planning to leave. Yes?”

He nodded. “So why are you here? You’re not going to do yourself any favours by interfering with that.”

“Well, it depends,” said Edward. “I’m not sure you’ll succeed in getting away, for one thing, and for another, I have a feeling that, if fully informed of what you’ve been up to lately, the United Europe group wouldn’t be so eager to have you back – or to let you go.”

“What the hell do you _want_?”

Edward held up an envelope. “I want you to leave as you planned, that’s all. In here, there’s a ticket, papers, and some money. Take it and get on the ferry over to Calais first thing in the morning. Do that and I won’t let the organisation know about all your activities and I’m sure they’ll pick you up from there.”

“What if I want more?” he said. “You’re taking a risk to do this. Why should I go? If it matters to you that much, I’m sure you could do better.”

Edward said, “I’m not taking that much of a risk, not with somebody outside watching. Besides, I called in a favour to get you this offer, but it was a limited one. You can try what you like, and I might be prepared to agree, but it won’t make a difference to the superintendent. If you’re not gone by then, you’ll be arrested.”

Alec stared back at him. There was no telling what was going through his head now.

“I thought you wanted to go,” said Edward. “You’re already packed, so –”

Alec held out his hand for the envelope. “All right, then. Seems to be an offer I can’t turn down.”

“That was the idea. If you do stay, you’ll be arrested and I’ll certainly make sure the organisation are told everything. I’m not sure what they might try to do about that in such circumstances – especially if you were trying to talk.”

Alec played with the envelope and, as Edward reached the door, he said, “I don’t understand you. You or your wife. Neither of you seem to want to be in it, so what’s it about?”

“If only someone knew,” said Edward, opening the door. “And now we want an end to it. You too, it seems. Now, just don’t let me see you again.”

Alec watched him. “And if it goes wrong?” he asked.

“Don’t think,” said Edward, turning back, “don’t think for a minute that this is the only trick I have left. If it all goes wrong or you won’t play along, I’ll find something else. I don’t believe you will.”

Alec leant back against the wall. “Are those contacts of yours really as good as you say, though?”

Edward couldn’t keep back a short laugh.

“What is it?”

He paused halfway through the door, and gave Alec a smile. “Well, as it happens, I’m on my way to see the Prime Minister, so it struck me as somewhat amusing.”

 

Edward came home at lunchtime the next day and pulled Julia into the study where they were less likely to be disturbed by Mrs Crosbie if she came in before they’d finished what was guaranteed to be a long and uncomfortable discussion with the strong possibility of derailing into an out and out argument. 

“Something’s happened?” she said. “Has it worked, or are we in trouble?”

“No, no, it’s worked. I had to wait to be sure, but he’s gone. Now you need to get in touch with the UE and let them know what he did. Then it’s over, all of it, if you want.” Edward might have promised Alec that he wouldn’t inform the organisation, but if you played the spy game, that was how it went. Bluff and double bluff, and keeping your word was a luxury. Besides, Alec deserved his comeuppance and the organisation deserved to know. Edward’s sympathies were with them, not their wayward agent.

Julia closed her eyes and leant against the desk. “I should be furious, of course. I still am about you having me followed. That isn’t a justifiable thing, Edward.”

“But you are relieved?” he said. “I thought – I was almost as sure as I could be that you wanted to stop. And even aside from the fact that you wouldn’t talk to me about it, I didn’t want you to feel obliged to tell the organisation. I told you – I wanted you to have a way out, too.”

Julia looked sidelong at him as he sat on the desk beside her. “Well, yes, I did. And I might have done, but it’s still not an excuse.”

“You said it was only what I had asked you to do,” he reminded her. “And you were trapped, so it was my responsibility to do something about it.”

She continued to hold his gaze. “Yes, so you went to some horrible, grubby private detective and had me followed! That is not – that’s appalling, Edward! I _am_ relieved – I can’t help it, but even so –”

“I know it is,” he said. “I know. So was asking Jack Sheldon for a favour to get the man out of here.”

Julia raised an eyebrow at him. “And you’re the sort of person who’s going to be helping to run the country?”

“Listen,” said Edward, swivelling about to face her fully, “I know none of it was excusable, but it’s done and now you’re safe.”

“And you can take on a cabinet position with a reasonably clear conscience,” said Julia, and he could hear the hard edge of anger still in her voice. “How very convenient all round.”

Edward glanced down and put a hand to his head. “I wondered if you’d think that.”

“Well, it would be difficult not to, wouldn’t it?” said Julia. “Although you might have thought about that aspect of things sooner. You’ve had seven years, Edward!”

He looked up again, uncomfortably aware that she was right. “Yes, yes, I know. When we met, I didn’t think I’d ever get to this point. I thought I might make a reasonable career out of this, advise Mr Morley, do some good, but I always assumed that they’d never give me high office because of the divorce. And I was angry about those talks, and how no one seemed to have been taking them seriously. So, as something to offer you as a reason, it didn’t seem so wrong. And I suppose I thought you’d stop sooner – or that you wouldn’t marry me once you were in England. I don’t know.”

“And then the whole thing became terribly inconvenient, so you eventually stepped in and tidied it neatly away,” Julia finished for him. She glared and he wondered if he’d pushed things too far this time. “Congratulations, minister!”

He caught at her arm before she could move away. “I didn’t do it for that reason. If it was only that, I’d have asked you if you would stop ages ago – but that wasn’t an option this time, if he was forcing you to go on. You didn’t seem to think my resigning would help, either. And when I thought about it, I could see a way to stop all of it – so I did.”

“I do understand,” she said, more quietly, “but _you had me followed_. What did you tell the man, Edward? That I was a spy and you wanted to keep an eye on my contact? You couldn’t have done. So you went to a private detective and told him you were afraid I was having an affair and let him think what he liked about me!”

Edward let go of her and stood again. “Actually, I didn’t. It doesn’t make it much better, I know, but I told him you were working with someone on that charity of yours who I thought was very likely defrauding the organisation and maybe even a threat to you. He may have thought I was lying, but no, Julia, that isn’t what I told him. Besides, it wouldn’t have been fair to ask him to tail someone who might conceivably be dangerous without warning him. And then I brought in Sheldon – and, no, it wasn’t justifiable, but it’s over now. That’s all I can say.”

“Very well,” said Julia, sounding uncharacteristically stiff nevertheless, “I suppose I must apologise for that last remark, but you’ll have to admit that I had reason to wonder!”

He moved around his desk, opening up the top drawer and pulling out a sheet of paper. “Yes, you did, I agree. So, it’s up to you what we do next. You know that your cover is still in place. When you contact the organisation about Alec, you can tell them that and resume your activities. That is entirely up to you. Just tell me what you decide, because I can’t take this position if you do. And if you think, all considered, that I should resign anyway, then I will.”

“No,” said Julia, raising her head again. “I don’t think I’ve ever been that much use to the organisation, and if this position is the first step to being Foreign Secretary –”

“It _may_ be – these things are never certain.”

“Well,” Julia continued, “then I think you should do that and try and change things and maybe that will make up for the fact that both of us have behaved so badly we really should just go away somewhere. And I did want to stop, quite desperately. You weren’t wrong about that. But, Edward, never have me followed again, not like that.”

He thought he could reasonably promise that much. “Julia, I’m sorry.”

“Promise, then!”

“You have my word.”

“The other thing,” said Julia, “is that we can’t have any more secrets – not like this. This would have been so much less trouble if I’d only told you as soon as Alec started threatening me. And I might have done, if only you hadn’t been busy being so secretive over nothing in the first place.”

Edward inclined his head to one side, a little wary. “I can’t make promises,” he said. “Especially if I do take office. There really are some state secrets, you know.”

“Secrets between us, about us,” said Julia, giving him a frown for causing her to have to state the obvious. “Not any more, Edward. Then maybe I’ll be able to trust you again.”

He stifled hurt, but it was no more than he expected and probably less than he deserved. “No more secrets,” he said, and hoped that would be achievable.

“Good,” said Julia, with a nod. “And I _am_ grateful that it’s over. You were right about that, but it’s still –” She looked up at him again. “It scares me that you could do that.”

Edward gave a slight laugh. “In a way, it scares me, too,” he said, “but I had to.” It was the ease of it, he thought: he could see the different points of the problem, and how to join up the dots to solve it all. Sometimes, it became impossible to resist doing so.

“Does it?” said Julia, suddenly, looking up. “Because earlier – what you said, it made me think. You sound _used_ to all this. If I’m blundering round like an amateur, as you say, well, you seem to be more of a professional.”

Edward put a hand up to his mouth, uneasy at the subject. “Well, yes,” he said. “Years ago, of course. In the war. I had always assumed you knew that.”

“Of course you did,” said Julia. “That would be one of those things that just isn’t worth saying, wouldn’t it? Well, I suppose I did know you worked in Intelligence or something along those lines during the war, but somehow I’d never pictured you actually doing this – being a spy.”

Edward put his hand in his pockets and found some loose change to play with, looking away from her. “It wasn’t like that. It was mostly desk-bound – administration, that sort of thing. It’s something I’m really _not_ permitted to discuss, though. But, Julia, you saw me in my official capacity!”

Julia stared at him and then said, eventually, “In Berlin?”

“I’d been collating intelligence on the group your brother was involved in. That was why –” He shrugged. “I’m sure I must have said something along those lines at the time, but of course, given what had happened –”

Julia stepped back from him. “Well, I try not to remember that meeting – and besides, you were at least the eighth bureaucrat I’d spoken to in two days. I didn’t care who or what you were as long as someone finally told me something.”

“Anyway,” said Edward, “it was only for the duration. I’d finished there before I met you again. But, you see, I assumed that was why it was me the organisation had landed on. Wasn’t it?”

Julia sat down. “If it was, they certainly didn’t tell me. But it seems nobody ever does! And, as you say, I’m only an amateur, so I didn’t get on and find out, the way all the rest of you probably would have done.”

“I never said that.” 

She backed further away from him. “And to think I spent all that time thinking – what I nearly did – oh!” She waved her hand in a gesture of incoherence. “You’ve no idea, have you?”

“Julia,” he said, moving forward, afraid that he had saved her – saved them both – from this only to destroy their marriage in the process.

She held up a hand to ward him off, and he stopped. “Please. You’ll have to give me some time, and you may assume for the moment that I don’t want to talk to you any more, not unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

 

~0~

 

The worst thing, Julia found, after all, was that bringing herself to forgive Edward wasn’t the problem; the problem was that she could do so all too easily. She’d got what she wanted, too, that was the thing. She’d hold his methods against him forever, but it was hard to say much more when she was so relieved not to lead a double life any more. 

She understood why he’d done it, too – that he’d been trying to protect the three of them. It was only what she’d been trying to do in April and look how badly she’d managed that back then. She hadn’t behaved much better, had she? But still, she thought, almost overwhelmed by the irony, she’d been so trapped by the situation and almost buried under the sudden weight of guilt at what she was as a spy, and believing he must find that despicable when the truth was he’d been there himself. She’d been so very stupid.

However, now she was free of that. It was hard to take in, but it was over, without any of the sacrifices she’d thought she must make, and so she couldn’t maintain her anger at Edward even if she should have done. She kept up the pretence of it for as long as she could, because they both deserved it. It shouldn’t be easy, and she was determined to do something right.

Standing in front of him after he’d come in one evening, she tugged at his jacket, as if to emphasise what she was saying, almost as an excuse for them both. “We’ll do better now it’s over. We _will_.”

“I hope so,” said Edward. “We had certainly better try, I agree.”


	56. Above Suspicion (PG, 1957: Edward Iveson, Julia Graves)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward’s been appointed Foreign Secretary but he’s got to counter some backroom dealing before he can take up the post…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1957; Edward Iveson, Julia Graves. 
> 
> Prompts: Sangria #10 (We know that the tail must wag the dog, for the horse is drawn by the cart), Prune #8 (you scratch my back and I'll scratch yours)
> 
> Notes/warnings: mentions of divorce. (Refers back to _Shot in the Park_.)

“Foreign Secretary. If I might have a moment of your time?”

Edward Iveson rose from behind his desk and extended a hand to his visitor as he walked over to meet him. “Sir George. Of course – come in.” The question, Edward knew, had been largely rhetorical, since he could hardly ignore Sir George Wheeler, Permanent Under-Secretary to the Foreign Office, or at least certainly not unless he wanted a very difficult and painful term of office.

“Good,” said Wheeler. “I’m relieved to have caught you, as it’s something of a delicate matter. However, if we don’t put it to bed as soon as possible, it could cause a considerable amount of trouble.”

Edward gestured over for the man to take the chair, and then sat back down at his desk. “In that case, you’d better explain.”

“It really is most delicate,” Wheeler said again, almost to himself, and then he glanced over at Edward. “You are familiar with the residences allocated to the Foreign Secretary?”

The Foreign Secretary had a flat in Carlton Gardens and a country estate at Donningford for use in matters of state. Edward knew that full well, having been Parliamentary Secretary to the Foreign Secretary and, for the previous year or so, Minister for State at the Foreign Secretary, and naturally having had to spend a good deal of time at both locations.

“Of course,” he said, still mystified.

Sir George shifted in his chair. “There has been a complaint – or at least a query – oh, dear, this is rather difficult.” He looked at Edward again, as if hoping that he could save him the trouble of explaining, and then, sighed. “It appears that someone has raised the question of whether or not it was appropriate for your wife to be hostess in those residences.”

Edward didn’t know what he had been expecting, but certainly not that. He stared at Wheeler, at a loss to understand: he couldn’t think of any possible objection to Julia – it couldn’t be her German mother, that was ridiculous, and despite the brief stab of worry, nobody else knew about her background with United Europe, and that was all over now, anyway – and then he understood. He put his hand to his face. “Oh, hell. You mean because of my divorce. That’s it, is it – the objection?”

“Indeed,” said Sir George, speaking much more easily now that the revelation had been made. “It was raised by a Member of the Opposition. Whether it originated with that gentleman or elsewhere I don’t yet know. You do see the full extent of the problem?”

Edward nodded. If it had come from a member of the Opposition, it was only to be expected that they’d try to find something to throw at the government if they could. If it was more deliberate, more personal – if someone else had made that point to a rival politician, that would be even more worrying. Edward moved his hand, brushing his fingers against his mouth, frowning over it, because never mind the politics, it was an insufferable insult to Julia.

“They don’t object to me being in the position?” he said. “It’s Julia, who’s done nothing –”

Sir George shifted his position on the chair. “Well, naturally, that might be the next question, I would say. Wouldn’t you?”

“Well, I can’t marry Julia in the Church of England unless I murder my first wife, and I can’t imagine that would help affairs.” The laws of England allowed for divorce, but the Church didn’t recognise remarriage except for the injured parties, and Edward had taken the blame in his case, because someone had to and it wasn’t going to be Caroline. Therefore, some interfering idiot was inferring, by that definition, he’d be effectively taking his mistress to preside at Donningford. Which, he thought irritably, he was willing to bet some of his predecessors probably _had_ done. He stood again in his agitation, wanting to hit something. “Damn them!”

“Indeed, but that I think is also Church business?”

Edward reigned in his temper and gave a short nod, but he didn’t sit down, instead leaning back against the bookshelf full of leather tomes behind him. “What do you suggest?”

“Well, we can easily minimise some of the trouble. You had hoped to remain in your own residence while in town where possible – you have a young daughter, I gather?”

Edward nodded again. “Yes. So she and Julia need to be at home if we can manage it. And of course, we could arrange it like that with Carlton Gardens – me there for state issues and the two of them back at Chalcot Crescent. But Donningford is another matter. She won’t need to accompany me on every occasion, but she has to sometimes. And if she doesn’t, if she’s not allowed there, then we’ll be forced to wonder if taking her with me on any state visits is also disrespectful?”

“That may be an issue in some cases, anyway, of course.”

“But to be dealt with when and if it arises,” said Edward. “This can’t be ignored. It’s ridiculous – surely no one would insist on such a point. Julia and I have been married for years and my divorce happened over a decade before she came on the scene. She had nothing to do with it!”

“I am aware of the details, Foreign Secretary.”

“Yes,” said Edward, and made himself sit back down, biting back his anger. “What did you have in mind?”

“I think, if possible, it would be best nipped in the bud before it’s even raised in the House. I don’t think anyone would bar Mrs Iveson from Donningford in the end, but the discussion itself must be avoided. A long debate over your moral suitability before you’ve even begun will not do. It has been over twenty years since the Abdication, but you know how people can be.”

Edward glanced down. “And if I hadn’t married there’d have been a question over that, wouldn’t there? I’d probably have never even come this far. I suppose, of course, one should know to make the right choice in the first place, but I took a little time to learn that.”

“Regardless, we must take the issue seriously.”

Edward nodded. Coming from the government, it was pure hypocrisy, but he couldn’t pretend that a good majority of the ordinary population of the country might take it seriously and that wasn’t something they could afford to ignore. He found it hard to swallow the irony that Harding, who must have had a good dozen affairs over the time Edward had known him, was allowed to be Home Secretary without a murmur, while Julia was censured for a perfectly legal act of Edward’s.

“I’ll take advice,” he said. “In the meantime, there’s no reason for Julia to be at Carlton Gardens and hopefully we’ll have this laid to rest before she dares to pollute the shades of Donningford.”

 

“Whatever it is,” Julia said, clearing away the dinner things, “I suggest you get on and tell me. Is it really that dreadful?”

Edward turned to look up at her, his hand resting on his hand as he remained sitting at the table, frowning over the problem. “Yes, of course. You’d better sit down, though.”

“Well, I suppose I can see the logic,” said Julia, once he’d explained. 

Edward stood. “Logic! There is no logic. Someone’s making trouble – if you’re not a fit person to be permitted in Donningford, then I’m certainly not fit to hold an office of state. I’m the damned divorcé, not you.”

“I wouldn’t shout that too loud if I were you,” Julia said. “You’ll be out of office before you’ve begun.”

Edward stopped stalking about the room. “Yes, well, that’s the point, isn’t it?”

“I don’t have to go to Donningford at all,” said Julia. “If that’s how it needs to be, then fine. It’ll be a nuisance sometimes, but you’re Foreign Secretary. There was always going to have to be some changes and that’s not as bad as the man from Special Branch who keeps standing around outside the house and following me when I go shopping.”

Edward crossed back over to where she was sitting to take her hand. “No, no, Julia. If we concede this, then, as you say, the next question is inevitably the appropriateness of my appointment. And even if that isn’t taken seriously, it’ll be an embarrassment to the government, and you know how the government hates to be embarrassed.”

“I see,” said Julia. “What idiot started it?”

Edward released her and sat back in his chair. “I don’t know yet – and that’s the question. Some Opposition backbencher, but whether it came from them or someone else is something I’ll need to find out.”

“Perhaps it was a concerned archbishop?” she said. “Or a reporter. You could ask Jack.”

He shook his head. “I’ll have to be more discreet than the press, even a tame press man. It could have simply come from the Opposition, which would be underhand but par for the course, but it could also be anyone else with a grudge or an agenda – wanting someone whose policies were more agreeable. I wondered about Sir George himself.”

“Isn’t he supposed to be on your side?”

Edward grinned. “You can’t assume the Permanent Under-Secretary is necessarily on the side of the Minister, at least not in private. In public, of course, he would never be anything else. If Wheeler thinks I’m the wrong choice, he might make trouble like this. Probably not, but I do wonder – he was the first one to mention it.”

“And this is why the government gets nothing done,” said Julia. “You’re much too busy conspiring against each other. I’d sort you all out.”

“Not all of us,” said Edward with a smile. “Or not always, anyway. I’ve done what I can for the moment. I spoke to Harding and he’s confident he can spike their guns if and when it gets raised in the House.”

“Then isn’t that it over with? A storm in a tea cup.” Julia rose, untying her apron.

Edward stood again, catching hold of her. “Not really. I need to know who started it and why. And _damn_ them anyway, why this – why you? You’re not to blame. It was all my own doing, and long over and done with before I met you.”

“I hardly think that’s true,” said Julia. “I think an awful lot of it was Caroline’s fault, too, you know.”

 

Edward walked along the Embankment, stopping alongside a man who was gazing out across the Thames as he puffed at a cigarette. Edward knew him well; he had worked with Clive Andrews in MI5 for the best part of the war. It was, though, worryingly easy to slide back into old habits: make it look like a casual meeting, not an arranged one.

“I’ve a question to ask,” Edward said. “Unofficially.”

Andrews dropped his cigarette and fished another out of the box in his pocket. “Got a light, sir?”

“Somewhere,” said Edward, searching in his coat and jacket. “Look, this isn’t exactly government business; I’m not trying to circumvent anyone or anything. I just need to know who’s been starting up complaints about me – about my divorce, and Julia’s status.”

Andrews shrugged and pulled out his own lighter. “Still. Can’t use Five like that.”

“If it’s a disgruntled bishop or an Opposition MP, at least it’s only what it seems,” Edward said. “What I’m worried about is that someone else wanted questions asked. Because, depending on who it is, we might need them stopped – or I might need to step down after all. Things are hardly stable as it is, without starting off with a scandal involving the Foreign Secretary. I need to know.”

His former colleague stared out at the river again and then gave a curt nod. “All right. In return, though –”

“I might have known.”

Andrews laughed. “Just something you might want to keep an eye on. We’ve got a Major Jemmings in the department at the moment. Something of a rising star. Very popular with the MoD.”

“Is that a problem?”

Andrews shrugged. “He’s also close friends with one of your lot. Tom Hallam. You know the one?”

“None of us could fail to,” said Edward. “But that doesn’t amount to a great deal, I’d have said. You’ve been in the job too long – you’re seeing conspiracies everywhere.”

“Says the minister who wants me to find out who’s starting nasty rumours about him.” Andrews straightened himself. “And you’re right. There’s nothing to say as yet. But I’ve had to run a couple of operations under him and I don’t like his way of working. Don’t like the way he runs assets either. Worse still, he’s had quite an impressive track record at uncovering traitors in the service. Only three so far, but I’m beginning to wonder if they weren’t strategically chosen. Two of them, anyway. Three would be a giveaway.”

Edward took his point. “What were you hoping I would do? You really ought to talk to Harding – he’s Home Secretary.”

“Just keep an eye open from your end,” said Andrews. “And, of course, if I disappear, tell someone, won’t you?”

Edward hid a small smile. “Is there anyone left I can trust to tell?”

“Try Sydney Elliott or Jennifer Ordsley.”

Edward turned to walk away, but paused. “Do you really think that’s likely?”

“You know,” said Andrews, before heading away in the other direction, “I’m not sure what the hell I do think these days.”

 

Harding’s talk, as far as Edward was concerned, had been disgraceful. It had successfully laughed the point out of the Commons when the question was raised, so Edward had thanked him grudgingly, later. He, of course, had not been present and he’d made Julia promise not to go to the visitor’s gallery that afternoon or it would only have risked raising it all again in the press. However, while Harding had pointed out that to make such an objection was also to make a mockery of the government’s own laws, probably something the government should leave to others and so on, he had also made comments about the Ivesons’ marriage and for all they might have been flattering overall, they were irreverent and Edward detested private matters becoming public in any case. It was an occupational hazard from time to time, but by and large the press had really had nothing interesting to say about his marriage and it was the first time he’d had to experience it. He hoped it would be the last.

“What _did_ Harding say?” Julia asked him, that evening, perching on the arm of his chair. “You can’t refuse to tell me, not when people were talking about me.”

Edward shrugged. “I wasn’t there. Best forget about it.”

“Darling,” said Julia, “you do realise that I can probably read it in Hansard later, don’t you?”

He gave a reluctant smile. “Then do, if you must. I should think you’d enjoy it more than I would have done, had I been forced to sit through it.”

“That’s it now, isn’t it?” said Julia. “It’s over and buried. Isn’t it?”

Edward didn’t answer again, turning to look for a book he’d misplaced.

“Ned,” Julia said. “Do you know who started it? Is that it? Because I’d like to know. No matter what they wanted, they objected to me rather than you.”

Edward would rather have kept it to himself, but she had a good point and, considering who was to blame, she might even have something useful to say about it. It seemed, after all, to be personal rather than political. “Lord Howe,” he said.

“Oh, _was_ it?” Julia said with a sudden anger that startled Edward. He raised his gaze to look at her and she put her hand on his arm. “Do you remember when we went to stay with them – the second time, even after I told you we shouldn’t?”

He watched her. “I could hardly forget it. Why?”

“Because not everything is about politics,” said Julia. “Or about you, Edward. Well, he’s broken the deal we made. He thought I wouldn’t find out – that _you_ wouldn’t find out he was behind this, and that even if you did, you’d hardly tell me! _He_ wouldn’t tell his wife, of course!”

“I think it’s time for you to explain,” he said. “Can we deal with him?”

She smiled. “Oh, I should think so. And I will explain, but first, you’d better tell me what Mr Harding said.”

“You could ask him. Or Diana.”

“That wouldn’t be as much fun,” said Julia. “And then and only then I’ll tell you exactly what Lord Howe did twenty-odd years ago, what he did five years ago, and how we can hopefully make him keep very quiet again for at least the next five years.”

Edward rose from the chair and looked down at her. “Honestly, Julia –” He pulled her to her feet.

“If you murder me now,” said Julia, “there’s a man from Special Branch who’ll come running in time to catch you red-handed. I’m sure he’ll cover it up quite nicely for you, but after that he’ll have to see about getting you assassinated or sent as far away as possible. They can’t have Cabinet Ministers doing that sort of thing.”

Edward laughed. “And the wrong wife anyway.”

“ _Oh_ ,” said Julia. “You want to murder Caroline! Well, that’s different. You should have said; I’ve been planning it for years.”


	57. Pen and Sword (T, 1958: Edward Iveson)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On this particular Friday, the Foreign Secretary’s eleven o’clock appointment wants to kill him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sept/Oct 1958; Edward Iveson, Lewis Evans. 
> 
> Prompts: Passionfruit #9 (Bright is the ring of words/ When the right man rings them); Prune #2 (it might save your life one day) + Malt – Birthday prompt ( _Who is the lamb and who is the knife?_ from likelolwhat)
> 
> Notes/warnings: guns, guilt. (What it is Edward & Julia have done since his taking office is detailed in other pieces in flashback, AU or multi-era sequences, but they both conspired to get information out to the organisation Julia was working for.)

Edward was on the telephone when the man entered. He tried, during a brief gap in the conversation, to glance again at the schedule on his desk and remind himself of the man’s name, but he seemed to have hidden it under the piles of other documents. He closed down the call and turned his attention to his visitor. “You’ll have to forgive me. There was another call after I asked you to send them through, but –” He stopped short, realising that the man was holding a gun.

“Just – don’t move,” said the man.

Edward held up his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “I’m not going anywhere, I assure you.” He tried to remember the man’s name from the list – he’d seen it, it was therefore in his head somewhere – and finally dredged it up: “Mr Harris, is it?”

The man started alarmingly at Edward’s use of his name, and then nodded.

“You obviously have something important you want to say,” said Edward. “Well, I’m listening.” He was struggling to get past his sense of unreality of the situation: he had to turn it around somehow. The chances of the telephone ringing again or someone interrupting to ask him something were high and Mr Harris, whose hold on the weapon was already visibly unsteady, would very likely fire in reaction. At this distance, it was almost impossible that he could miss. If he continued to panic, he might well also shoot whoever walked in on them.

“Someone’s got to pay for what’s been happening,” Harris said. “All of it – the bombing raids – everything. It didn’t even mean anything, did it?”

Edward carefully kept his expression blank, but he had a sudden memory of sixteen or so years ago: facing prisoners over a desk, much like this, except that none of them had been armed, of course. He’d questioned them and looked for what it was they were here for, what they cared about, some key with which to turn them. In Mr Harris’s case, he’d now handed him vital information. “You lost someone?” Edward said, keeping his voice even, only just making it a question.

“Does it matter who?” Harris said. “How many d’you think could say the same?”

Edward risked pushing him slightly further. “But it was someone close to you? If it didn’t matter, you wouldn’t be here. Whose loss has to be paid for?”

“Celia,” said Harris, taking another step nearer. “Her and the rest of the family.”

Edward leant forward fractionally, his every sense alert. It was funny that; the way the nearness of death made one so suddenly aware of being alive. “Your –?”

“My sister,” said Harris, and screwed up his face, his hands shaking as he psyched himself up to the act.

“One thing,” Edward said. “Just one thing, one last question. Why this? Why another death, even mine?” It was all so ironic, he thought, not in the least steady himself, either. He was grateful he’d been sitting down. But, God, in protest at the same incident he’d committed a crime of his own; something that could bounce back and destroy him far more thoroughly than any shot from a gun.

Harris lowered the weapon by a fraction, shaking further, so much so that Edward felt a lurch in his stomach in anticipation, but it didn’t go off. “I said. Someone’s got to pay and you’re the one that makes those decisions, aren’t you?”

“I’m afraid I’m not,” said Edward. “A good many things, yes, but that particular decision comes down to Mr Fields and the heads of the armed forces. But I can see that I would certainly do as well as any of them for you to make your point. I won’t argue.” He had to pause for breath; it was a speech that required more effort than any he’d yet given in the Commons. “However, there is one question I’d ask myself if I were you: I considered resigning over the bombings, but I decided it was better to stay and try to dissuade Mr Fields from similar actions than to walk away and let him appoint someone more amenable to this office. I think he would, you see, and what would that gain you, after all this effort and sacrifice?”

Harris swallowed. “Shut up!” he said. “Just – shut up! I’ve come this far and I going to finish it, I don’t care what you say.”

“I see,” said Edward, as if it was his normal sort of eleven o’clock appointment and his heart wasn’t thudding so hard in his ears he felt sick. “Then would you mind terribly waiting just two or three minutes while I sign these?”

Harris stared, lowering the gun again. “What?”

Edward gestured at the piles of documents on his desk. “Well, it will save people trouble if I get some of this paperwork out of the way first. If this is an execution, then am I not supposed to be granted one last request?”

Harris said nothing, so Edward carefully kept his head down, despite the effort it took not to look up to watch the man’s reaction. He straightened out the sheets of paper, signing the topmost, although his hand was so unsteady, he thought he’d probably have to get the whole thing drawn up again if he survived this encounter. He was relieved, however. If Harris hadn’t killed him by this point, then there was a good chance that he wasn’t going to; that he wasn’t really prepared to go through with murder. The downside was that the odds of an interruption grew ever greater with every passing second. Nevertheless, Edward made himself read the next document at an apparently leisurely rate, allowing at least another minute to pass.

He glanced up again at Harris, who was pale now and shaking alarmingly. “Come on,” he said, quietly. “Sit down. Let’s not add two more to the death toll. You know that’s how it would be, don’t you?”

Harris hesitated. He looked down at the chair by the desk, but he still didn’t move.

“Sit down, sir,” said Edward, not raising his voice, but using all the authority he possessed. 

The man obeyed, almost collapsing into the chair opposite.

“And you really had better put that gun down,” said Edward, holding onto his own nerve, not allowing himself to relax until they were well past the point of danger. “Then it’s over. You’ve made your point.”

Harris put the gun down on the desk, Edward flinching at the movement in case it went off at the last moment, but it didn’t. Harris sank down further, putting his head in his hands. Edward picked up the gun and made sure the safety catch was on, before putting it in the drawer beside him. He struggled to think what to do next, feeling unpleasantly light-headed with relief.

There was a knock on the door and, while Harris seemed to have gone past even registering it, Edward started violently.

“Sir,” said Lewis Evans, his private secretary, peering round the door. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but I’ve had a memo from Sir Malcolm about the weekend and it seemed rather urgent –” He stopped and looked at Edward. “Is something wrong, sir?”

Edward fought to collect himself again and find his voice. “Lewis,” he said, and then wondered what came next. “I mean, yes, thank you. If you could ask the policeman at the door to come up here, I’d be grateful.”

“Sir?” said Evans. His gaze travelled to Harris. “What’s happened?”

“Please, just do as I ask,” said Edward. “Mr Harris can’t stay here.”

Evans hesitated, and then turned to the door and shouted for one of the others to join him while Edward stared ahead at the man in front of him; Harris still with his head in his hands, lost in his distress and failure to get to the point. It all began to feel ridiculous and unreal again; such a foolish thing to make a fuss over when nothing had actually happened. Yet it had brought the truth home to him as nothing else had yet. If what he had done ever got out, then it would have been better if the man had shot him. He wondered what they’d do: remove him from office, certainly, but trying the Foreign Secretary over such a case? He might well be quietly disposed of by someone rather more efficient than Mr Harris – anything to save the nation from embarrassment. And if the news travelled too fast for them, if it got into the papers, then he would face ruin, arrest, a trial, and possibly the rope at the end of it, and maybe even Julia along with him. A bullet, in comparison, would be a mercy.

“Sir,” said Evans from somewhere to the side of the room. “Sir?”

A mercy only for him, of course, thought Edward. It wouldn’t have been for the unfortunate Harris. He wondered vaguely what Evans wanted, and then looked up at his secretary.

“Are you all right, sir?” Evans asked.

Edward wasn’t sure what to say to that. “I think,” he managed in the end, “that I may need a moment or two before we move on to the next item on the schedule.”


	58. Only Her Interests Are Eternal (PG, 1958: Edward Iveson/Julia Graves, Marie Werner)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward’s hosting negotiations he’s sure are doomed to failure, while Julia’s determined that if anyone’s going to scandalise the nation this weekend, it’s going to be her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sept/Oct 1958; Edward Iveson/Julia Graves, Marie Werner, Lewis Evans. (Takes place immediately after the previous piece, _Pen and Sword_.)
> 
> Prompts: Passionfruit #15 (nature rejects the monarch not the man), Prune #17 (I aim to please) + Brownie + Malt – Valentine Box ( _Glory is fleeting, but obscurity is forever._ \- roisin_farrell)
> 
> Notes/warnings: references to infidelity & an assassination attempt.

“The Chairman of the Select Industry Committee is somewhat erratic, so I’ve seated him well away from Sir Arnold and Mr McAfee. You may, however, wish to keep an eye on him during dinner, Mrs Iveson,” said Sir Malcolm Wendover, one of the more important deputy secretaries at the Foreign Office. “ _Very_ erratic,” he added, more to himself than to her.

“And who _is_ Mr McAfee?”

“CIA,” said Sir Malcolm. “You will be seated between Mr Logan and Mr Matthews, naturally.”

Julia gave a smile. “Naturally,” she said. “Thank you, Sir Malcolm. I’m sure with you organising everything, it will all go smoothly as usual. The negotiations themselves might be more difficult, of course.”

“One can only work so many miracles,” said Sir Malcolm, permitting himself a small smile at her in return, before heading at a surprisingly brisk pace towards the double doors leading out from the dining room to the grand hallway of Donningford. He had to halt as Edward Iveson walked in, closely followed by Lewis Evans, his private secretary, who was fighting not to drop papers.

“Sir,” Sir Malcolm murmured in passing, and made his exit.

Julia reached Edward. “Oh, dear. You must want something. You have that look on your face.”

“I do, I’m afraid,” he said, and then turned his head to watch the door shut behind Sir Malcolm. “Really, Julia, the way you flirt with that dry old stick is disgraceful!”

Julia raised her eyebrows. “All I do is agree with nearly everything he says and admire his organisational skills,” she said. “And then every once in a while when I want to ask him something, he deigns to listen to me.”

“Sir,” said Evans from behind Edward in what sounded like increasing desperation. “This memo –”

Edward sung around. “Lewis, stop following me! Unless war has broken out, I’ll deal with it after I’ve had a word with Mrs Iveson. Which, by the way, is a conversation you’re not invited to join. Julia, my study now – please!”

“Well, I was trying to get one or two last things done before everyone –” Julia stopped and gave a sigh and a shrug. “Very well, Ned. Lead the way.” She patted Lewis’s arm as she passed. “Poor Mr Evans, I’m so sorry. Believe me, I’ll send him back to you the first moment I can.”

Edward held the door open for her. “ _Julia_.”

 

“Whatever is it?” she asked, once they were alone. Or assuming they were alone, knowing what this place was like. Someone could still be listening in somewhere. “I know this contract is supposed to be important, but you’ve been on edge since before we even got here.”

Edward shook his head, evidently finding that question irrelevant to the matter in hand. “Julia, Mr and Mrs Logan have arrived already.”

“Oh,” said Julia. “Well, I’m very sorry. Why didn’t someone say? Shouldn’t there have been a fanfare at the very least?”

Edward held up a hand. “No, no, it’s not that. I went down to greet them and they wanted some time with some of their people anyway. It’s not that; it’s something far more unexpected and it’s just –” He rubbed his forehead with his fingertips. “Oh, God. Julia, it turns out that Mrs Logan is Marie Werner. Or was, I suppose I should say.”

“Oh my,” said Julia, arching her eyebrows. “Oh, dear. Well, yes, I can see why that could be awkward. But I still don’t see why you should panic. I’m sure that Marie is the last person likely to cause any trouble. Or is it you that you’re worried about?” 

Edward was distracted enough to barely react to her jibe. “I don’t like it,” he said, and he picked up a pen from the desk before staring at it as if he had no idea how it had leapt into his hands and then putting it down again. “It changes everything.”

“I don’t think I understand,” said Julia, moving closer. “Edward, whatever it is, stop panicking over it. You’re the Foreign Secretary; you’re not allowed to.”

Edward caught hold of her arms and pulled her nearer. “Nobody told me,” he said in a low tone. “Don’t you see what that could mean? They had to have gone over the guest list thoroughly and they know about Marie because they once wanted me to sound her out as an asset. The chances are this is an excuse to sabotage the whole business. It happens. It’s a face-saving thing: the government can’t back out of the agreement at this stage, but something has turned up that’s either more advantageous or that suggests the agreement might become an embarrassment, so the negotiations founder over some other issue. And that’s the best case scenario. The other is that they know – that they _know_.” He paused, looking at her to make sure she understood what he was referring to, and she nodded. As if she could fail to: that time they passed information onto a foreign government between them.

“If they did,” said Julia stretching up to kiss him on the cheek in order to speak into his ear, “would we still be here?”

Edward closed his eyes in frustration; evidently the whole thing was obvious to him. “It’s more plausible than the other. It’s how these things are done. If one needs to be rid of an important minister for reasons that might damage the government were they known, then one stirs up a scandal or a different accusation to obtain his resignation. And for something this serious, following that, they make a deal or find another charge. It’s usually depressingly easy, you know.”

“That, darling, is an awful lot to read into what’s most likely an unfortunate oversight,” said Julia, moving away from him. “And even if it’s not, what exactly are you planning on doing with Marie to wreck the weekend, may I ask?”

“Julia, please don’t start being difficult now.”

She watched him. “Which of you is it you don’t trust?”

“That is not the point.”

“Well,” said Julia, “it may not be, but you needn’t worry. I shall certainly make sure there’s no opportunity for either of you to do anything that would shock the nation. Well, aside from the fact that it probably hasn’t recovered from the shock of my being here in the first place.”

“Good God, Julia, let’s not go into that again. And, please, do take me seriously!”

Julia looked up at him. “Edward, I am.”

“You think I’m overreacting because it’s Marie,” he said, and sat back on his desk, his movements weary. “It is complicated, I admit. It was always – unfinished, I suppose. But it was also a very long time ago, and I assure you –”

Julia shook her head. “You needn’t assure me of anything. Now, do excuse me, I clearly have a good deal to do.”

“Wait, Julia,” he said, moving to bar her way. “What are you planning?”

She squeezed his arm lightly and then moved past him, pausing at the door. “It’s not a plan as such. I think I shall have to improvise, but don’t worry, darling – I have the Civil Service on my side.”

 

Julia was taking the situation seriously, whatever Edward might think. She still couldn’t help feeling that it must surely be an unfortunate coincidence rather than anything else – people did make mistakes, people in government just as much as anybody else, if not more so – but Edward knew too much about these kinds of things for her to ignore him. She also took Marie seriously. Not in the sense that she really believed either of them would do anything, but it wasn’t like Caroline, his first wife, whom he mostly wanted to avoid as a reminder of an unfortunate time. Edward still had feelings for Marie. What they were, Julia didn’t know and she suspected that Edward might not either, but she was an element of his past that would always mean something to him and in which Julia had no part.

Certainly, she thought, if he was in such an odd mood, it didn’t seem a good idea for them to be sat next to each other tonight, so her first move was to hunt down Sir Malcolm, and asking him to change his seating plan for dinner again.

“I think it would be best,” she said, proposing her alteration. “It turns out that Edward met her once before – he thinks she didn’t care for him much. We don’t want to risk offence, do we?”

Sir Malcolm raised his head from the plan and gave her a sharp glance. “No, indeed. I believe that would be acceptable, Mrs Iveson.”

“Thank you,” Julia said, and fled to the bedroom to tidy herself before she had to go back downstairs and greet the guests.

 

As everyone arrived, she smiled nicely at them all and shook hands with the various businessmen, politicians and civil servants and, on this occasion, a handful of their wives. Edward, beside her, appeared his usual self again, greeting his guests with a polite but interested word or two each. In between arrivals, Lewis Evans and Sir Malcolm and several others called him away from her, which they also did immediately after the last guest had been accounted for. 

That accomplished, Julia went upstairs to get ready for dinner. Edward reappeared while she was still standing in a dressing gown contemplating the contents of her wardrobe, executing a hasty change into formal evening wear – white tie – and then attempted to dash back out again with barely a word.

“Edward, stop,” she said, and he reluctantly turned back, while she cast a critical eye over him to ensure that he hadn’t been careless in his haste. He didn’t seem to have been, but she straightened his jacket and tie anyway.

He pulled away in visible irritation. “Julia, really, _must_ you –?”

“It has been known to save embarrassing incidents,” she said, and then busied herself finding a suitable button hole from the carnations in the vase on the chest of drawers. She put it in place for him. “There.”

He gave her a distracted kiss and said something about expecting an international phone call about three minutes ago before leaving.

Julia pulled a face at her reflection and then returned her attention to the question of what to wear. Given the occasion, she had previously intended to wear a sober black cocktail dress, impeccable and smart. Now that the game had changed, she needed something a little more dramatic, she thought, pulling out a grey silk taffeta evening dress, and holding it up against herself. As long as it was still decorous and formal enough for a government affair, why not?

She considered it for a moment longer and then smiled in satisfaction at the mirror, turning away to carefully pull it on, with its wide straps sewn to a heart-shaped, fitted and embroidered bodice; the skirt pleated and long but not too full. It had an almost lilac hue that brought out certain lights in her eyes. Yes, she decided, this one would do very nicely.

 

Julia, on coming downstairs, searched the room first for Marie, although she tried not to be too obvious about it. After a few moments of wondering if perhaps she’d forgotten what Marie looked like, she finally spotted her talking to a man who must be Dane Logan, her new husband. She was wearing a long, simple navy dress and looked much the same as she had two years ago when Julia had first met her. Julia wondered idly how old she was. It was hard to tell, but she must be at least fifty now, probably a little more. It didn’t really matter anyway; she was wearing well, still slender with dark hair and eyes and an expressive face. And, of course, Julia reminded herself with a sigh, she was terribly nice. It would be so much easier if she was awful and then Julia would feel at liberty to demolish her given the right excuse. She felt confident that she could.

So, she lifted her head and drew herself up: this might be a temporary, borrowed grandeur, being used this weekend for dispiritingly prosaic purposes, but for tonight she was queen of this kingdom and everybody was going to know it.

 

Julia wondered to herself how many of these sorts of dinners she’d been to since she’d married Edward. There had been plenty when he’d been secretary to Mr Morley, an odd few in the Opposition years, quite a number while he was Minister for State at the Foreign Office, and now they were seemingly endless. She had become thoroughly practised at being charming, interested in dull conversations (although not too interested, depending on the sensitivity of the topic), and talking to important strangers. It had been all too easy; it was, to be honest, a game she liked playing every now and then. Certainly it was better than the times she had to stay at home while Edward held talks that she wasn’t allowed to attend. ‘Need to know’ was a phrase she had never liked much, all the more so these days.

Julia took her seat between Mr Matthews, whose company was in question here, and Mr Logan, who was negotiating the contract. It was a comparatively minor affair and Julia had only a hazy idea of the exact details (some kind of construction project that was in some way beneficial to the country). She would have paid more attention if she had known it was to become so suddenly important on a personal level. 

Mr Matthews seemed even more distracted than Edward had been earlier. He was polite when Julia addressed him, but his answers soon tailed off and he ate his dinner without much attention to it or enthusiasm. Mr Logan, on the other hand, was not in the least tongue-tied and talked to her easily throughout. 

“It’s a nice little place you’ve got here,” he said at one point and Julia wondered first how large his house was if he called Donningford little and then how it was that Marie went about collecting millionaire husbands. He went on to relate a golfing anecdote, while Julia tried to decide what to think of him. He came across as supremely confident and cheerful, and he seemed nice enough, even if he smiled too much. Maybe that was mere friendliness, maybe it was hidden nerves, or maybe he was one of the sharks of this world. Julia hoped not, for Marie’s sake.

Between dessert and coffee, Julia stole a discreet glance at Edward, but he was talking to another guest with apparent easy self-possession, and then her attention was claimed again by Mr Logan. She knew she couldn’t really do anything about the machinations of the British Government or any other shady organisations, but when it came to Edward and Marie, she might not have a plan, but as long as Edward thought she did, that should guarantee that if he was going to be distracted by one of them this weekend, it was going to be her and not Marie.

 

Once they had finished dinner, she set to playing the hostess again, making the rounds of the guests, and stopping first to speak to Lewis Evans and Laurence Hunniford, who was another more junior secretary (the Foreign Office had a whole army of them, all slightly different flavours).

“No disasters as yet, I trust?” she said, with a smile.

Lewis shook his head. “No, thank goodness.”

“Don’t jinx us,” said Laurence. “Lewis and I have to go get some papers together. If the roof falls in while we’re gone, we’ll blame you.”

She laughed. “Don’t worry; it’s held up for around three hundred years so far and only think of the shocking things it must have seen.”

“You’re doing it again,” Laurence pointed out. “But I’m afraid we really must desert you, Mrs Iveson.”

Julia shrugged. “Oh, I need to speak to Mr Iveson again anyway; I shan’t miss you two at all.”

Laurence headed for the door immediately, but Lewis hung back. “Of course you must,” he said, suddenly earnest, “especially after this morning – I’m sure you’d rather not be here, but, honestly, Mrs Iveson, nobody could tell. You’re being perfectly splendid about it all.”

Julia wasn’t quick enough to ask him what he meant. He had half turned before he’d finished the sentence, and she’d been too surprised to stop him. Oh, she thought, really? What _had_ happened that morning? Whatever it was, she was ignorant enough that Lewis’s compliment was entirely undeserved and more than a little worrying.

She moved away to speak to Harry Jackson, current Minister for State at the Foreign Office (or one of them, at least) and his wife, Phoebe. She pushed the question out of her mind and smiled at them, enquiring after their health, how their son was, and even remembering their King Charles spaniel, Dotty. She moved on to speak to Mr McAfee, who didn’t seem at all sinister, neatly moved over to introduce the erratic Sir Arnold to the Jacksons, rather than let him pin down Mr Logan for too long, and felt generally pleased with herself.

When she caught Edward in a moment between conversations, she gave him a smile. “Well, nothing dreadful seems to have happened so far.”

“What are you doing?” he said, speaking in an undertone. He couldn’t say more, but she knew that his irritation must be all the greater for remaining unexpressed.

She widened her eyes. “I’m being polite and friendly and doing my duty, darling. Whatever else _could_ I be up to?”

Edward gave her a dark look, but he was called away by Sir Malcolm again, so Julia gave a tired smile and found Mr Matthews again and set about trying her best to charm him out of his current mood. That seemed to be impossible, but she did, however, catch Edward looking at her several times before he disappeared with Mr Logan and Lewis Evans, who had returned in the meantime, and she decided to count that as a measure of her success. 

 

Once the guests had begun to disperse and the social phase of the evening merged into more serious business conversations, Julia left them and went upstairs. Nevertheless, she stayed awake, waiting for Edward to join her. If nothing else, she needed to find out what Lewis had meant by his odd comment about this morning. She was remained in the dress, pulling her dressing gown round her as she grew colder and Edward still hadn’t joined her. She pulled a face, and lay down on the bed, eventually falling into a doze until she was startled into wakefulness by Edward creeping into the room.

“Really, Julia,” he said, when he saw her, “you’ve not had too much to drink, have you?”

She sat up in indignation. “No, I haven’t! How could you? I was waiting for you – and what _time_ is it?”

“Nearly one,” he said. “Sorry.”

She turned slightly and gestured for him to at least help her out of the dress now that he was here.

Edward obliged, but then hesitated, as she moved away to step out of the gown. “Whatever it is you’re doing – I wish you wouldn’t.”

Julia fished out her nightclothes from under the covers, stifling a yawn as she did so. “Don’t you know? You can work out all these things – what one coincidence means and what everyone will do, whether it’s true or not. Line up people like a row of dominoes and push them over –”

“Is that the best analogy?” 

She gave a short laugh at Edward, as always, picking up on the least important detail in a sentence. “Chess, then, if you’d rather. All the pieces laid out, ready to be moved. You can do that and yet you can’t predict what I’m going to do, can you? And you’re not all that certain about Marie, either.”

“I merely asked what you had in mind. This is hardly the place or time for playing games.”

Julia smiled to herself as she climbed into the bed. “I thought that was exactly what it was. Your own specially made chess board.”

“Julia –”

“Goodnight, darling,” she said, closing her eyes, and, facing away from him, her smile curved further. And whatever the other thing was, she’d have to ask him tomorrow.

 

In the morning, the business of the weekend began in earnest. As far as Julia knew, it ought to be relatively straight-forward, but things seemed to have changed rapidly over yesterday afternoon and even this morning. Breakfast was always a sparse affair anyway, but even more so today with those that were there being terse, hasty and inclined to disappear into huddles with their advisers.

Julia, not being involved with the talks, or even having a chance to catch Edward before they began, could only shrug and hope that it would all work out, but she could carry on her own agenda at least, and so she invited Marie to take a walk in the grounds with her.

“I said last time was awkward,” said Marie to her as they left the house and stepped out into the green, sloping grounds at the back, “but it’s got nothing on this. I’m sorry. I didn’t pay attention to the finer details of Dane’s business meeting, however important he said it was. Seems I should have done – I’d have cried off if I’d known.”

Julia gave a shrug, still doing up the buttons on her coat. “It shouldn’t really matter anyhow. Not from our point of view.”

“It’s hardly the ideal scenario, though,” said Marie. “I always used to think things were so simple and now it seems the past just never lets up on coming back to bite you.”

Julia took a deep breath, working herself up to say what she had to: “Mrs Logan –”

“Marie, honey.”

“Marie,” said Julia. “There is another point of view from which it might be even worse. I don’t know that I believe it myself, but Edward thinks so, and I need to tell you. He says that there’s no reason he wouldn’t have been informed you were coming unless someone wanted to sabotage the talks – or maybe him.”

“How could they?”

Julia could think of various ways. “What about Mr Logan? Would he be happy if he knew? And this contract won’t go through if he isn’t.”

“No, I don’t suppose he would,” said Marie. “He’s not like Richard. Or John, for which we can all be thankful.”

“Well, then,” Julia said. “I leave it up to you to decide what you want to do about that, but at least I’ve warned you. And, as for the rest, just make sure you avoid any private conversation with Edward.”

Marie raised her eyebrows. “Oh?”

“It’s an obvious precaution,” said Julia, stifling annoyance. She might be jealous in some ways, but that wasn’t what her concern was now. If she needed to do this for such reasons or even if she believed that she did, they’d all be in far more trouble. “Isn’t it?”

Marie gave a laugh. “I guess it is. Do you live your life like that? Deciding on the best strategy – like moves in a game.”

“Oh,” said Julia, and had no idea how to answer her. She supposed that in some ways, she did. “I’m married to the Foreign Secretary,” she said eventually. “I’ve had to learn to be political. I don’t mind.”

“So I see.”

Julia glanced at the other woman. “Oh, don’t tell me it’s any different being married to a businessman like Mr Logan. You must end up in the middle of power games – it’s how these things work. Business and politics – it’s all the same.”

“Probably,” said Marie, “but I try not to think about it. I smile nicely for the photographers if it’s required and I know how to throw a dinner party, but I keep out of the way of all that kind of thing.”

 _And sneak about having affairs_ , thought Julia crossly. Now _there_ was a complicated, dangerous game to play if ever there was one. She searched about for something to say rather than let her irrational annoyance show. “Well, I’ve warned you, so now you have a fighting chance.”

“To do what?” asked Marie, looking bemused again.

Julia led the way down the gravel path. “Whatever you think. Anything that might help – to tell your husband yourself if it would be better that way. I don’t know. You probably won’t want to – Edward might be wrong, but I thought it was only right to say. If someone wants to sabotage this deal, or Edward and me, it’s hardly fair if they ruin your marriage, too.” 

“Over something that happened twenty years ago?” said Marie.

Julia nearly laughed, but it wasn’t funny. “Oh, you must never underestimate how stuffy and timid the British government can be. Anything they think might damage the public’s faith in its omniscience – which I’m fairly sure is mythical anyway – is something they want to keep very quiet – and so then it’s potential material for blackmail, and if the powers that be learn such a thing exists, the person in question is expected to resign.” She waved a hand, and tried not to think of what she and Edward had done; how much worse it was than any old love affair that might be raked up. “Questions were asked in parliament just over me being here, don’t you know?”

“Over you?”

Julia stifled anger again. “It doesn’t matter.” Then she turned off the path, leading the way across the grass. “This way.”

“Are we going somewhere in particular, then?”

Julia turned in surprise. She thought she’d said, but on searching her memory realised that she couldn’t have done. “Oh, I’m sorry. I thought I’d take you to admire the folly. If anyone asks what we’ve been doing, that is.”

Before she turned her head away, she caught Marie regarding her in that almost pitying way again and drew herself up, heading for the neo-classical temple that graced the grounds.

“You know,” said Marie behind her, as they reached the folly, “I’m not going to argue with you about the underhand ways of your government, but whatever you may think, I was finished with Edward a long time ago. I can’t think of any right way to say this, but he wasn’t the first and he wasn’t the last, and I sure as hell never had any intention of gate crashing your state splendour.” She gestured out at the view from the folly; the grounds and the house back to one side, the woods on the other and the lake in front of them. 

Julia sat down on the stepped entrance to the mock-temple, and looked up at Marie. “I didn’t say anything to imply that I thought otherwise.”

“Well, something’s eating you, honey,” said Marie, “and I prefer it if you didn’t take it out on me. You weren’t even around back then – you must have been a child.”

“Fifteen or sixteen,” said Julia almost absently as she stared out at the lake. It was so very calm – on the surface, at least. “Yes, I know.”

Marie glanced down at the steps with slight distaste before cautiously perching herself beside Julia. “Like I said. I expect you were being kept busy at one of those schools of yours, where they turn you out to be a lady?”

“Something like that,” Julia agreed, though Meadowfields had always seemed to aim at making something more solid of its pupils than a lady, at least in the sense that Marie probably meant. She was angry, she admitted to herself, and forced herself to push that feeling away. Being angry at the woman who’d effectively taken advantage of Edward and who could now destroy him was a ridiculous attitude, as if Edward didn’t make his own decisions, and, anyway, she knew that woman wasn’t Marie. She didn’t know what Marie had or hadn’t done and it wouldn’t be fair to ask, but what Julia had done was too terrible a secret to confess to anyone.

Marie smiled. “So, you can’t expect us to have thought of you at the time, can you? And I don’t know when you met him, at what calendar event, but –”

At that, Julia, leant forward, hugging her arms in against her middle and laughed helplessly, dispersing her underlying anger and frustration. “I’m sorry,” she said, eventually, choking off her inadvertent amusement and finding herself oddly close to tears instead. “It wasn’t – quite like that, you see.”

“That’ll teach me to make silly assumptions,” said Marie, with a warmer smile. “What was I saying? Oh, it doesn’t matter, does it?”

Julia smoothed down her skirt and then got briskly to her feet. “Honestly, no,” she said. “I know that you came along at a time when Edward was unhappy, and you were kind to him. I don’t want to see that get used against him now for my own selfish reasons, of course, but I don’t think it’s fair for you to be punished for it, either. That really was all I wanted to say. I’m sorry if I didn’t – if I –”

“It’s all right,” said Marie, taking her hand briefly as she stood. “Like I said, it’s awkward, isn’t it? It’s no use us pretending otherwise.”

Julia gave another laugh, and nodded. “Unfortunately, yes.”

“So,” said Marie, “let’s go back inside – and I shall do my very best to take your warnings to heart, but that’s about all I can promise.”

 

Once back inside the house, Julia checked her watch and went to see if they were taking a break from the talks. On finding out that they hadn’t yet, she went to wait in the outer office by Edward’s study so that she could catch him when they did. Her duty done with regards to Marie, now she wanted both to check on Edward and to ask him what Lewis had meant in his odd comment about the previous morning.

She sat down on a chair in the corner and wished she’d brought a book. She asked the very junior secretary left still on duty if he had anything and wound up with a non-confidential parliamentary report on the previous quarter’s exports, which wasn’t the most enthralling read. Still, she told herself as she flicked through it, it might even help her through some difficult conversations at some point.

She was almost caught up in it for lack of anything else when the door opened and Edward strode in, closely followed by Lewis Evans. “I need a word with Sir Malcolm first. Didn’t he come this way?”

Before Evans could reply, Sir Malcolm arrived beside them. “Foreign Secretary?”

Edward sat on the nearest desk. “Sir Malcolm, you saw what happened in there. Matthews has clearly been leaned on. And a little too hard, I’d say. The question is by whom – and whether or not I should, ah, push back. We can – Evans here has been very efficient in some information gathering – but if it’s our people behind it, well –”

“I am here, you know,” said Julia from the corner, causing the three of them to turn. “Honestly, I didn’t think I was that easy to miss.”

Edward rubbed his forehead briefly. “I’m sorry, but I am currently rather busy – what was it you wanted? Is it important?”

“I think so,” Julia said, putting down the report and standing up, preparing to leave. She could see that this was not the moment to start asking questions. “But don’t worry; it isn’t anything that can’t wait until the crisis is over. And, of course, I shan’t breathe a word of anything I just heard – although if it _is_ secret, you might want to close the door before you carry on.”

She walked on, frustrated in her purpose, but also a little relieved at the results of her accidental eavesdropping. If, she thought, someone had been working on Mr Matthews, then it seemed very unlikely that Edward was right in his gloomy ideas about Marie. She only wished she’d known that earlier, before she’d had such an awkward walk to the folly and back.

Lewis Evans came out of the door behind her and, as he walked past her, evidently in a hurry, she caught at his arm.

“Mr Evans,” she said. “I can see I’d better not disturb the Foreign Secretary again, so, please, you must tell me: yesterday, you said something had happened?”

He clutched at his papers more tightly, and gave her a puzzled look. “Don’t you know? But – surely –”

“No,” said Julia, “and going by your reaction, I ought to before I make myself look very foolish. Clearly, it’s not anything secret!”

Evans hesitated again, glancing around him as if wishing for an escape route, but then he gave a slight sigh, and said, “There was an incident yesterday morning. Somebody who had an appointment – well, he threatened Mr Iveson with a gun. Nothing came of it, obviously – Mr Iveson had already talked him down before anyone knew of it.”

It was the last thing Julia had been expecting, and she took an unconscious step back, as if the shock of the news was a physical force. She said nothing, however, merely nodding.

“It was all very unfortunate,” said Mr Evans, nearly falling over himself to reassure her. “We don’t know how it happened, and of course Special Branch are determined that nothing of the sort will occur again.”

Julia gave him a smile. “Yes, of course. I see. Thank you, Mr Evans.”

He paused for a moment, but then merely departed on whatever his no doubt urgent errand was. Left in the corridor, Julia put her fingers to the wall and thought that it was no wonder if Edward was acting a little strangely. And, apparently, assassination attempts, however half-hearted, went into the seemingly endless category of things he didn’t think worth telling her. She sighed and thought that she probably shouldn’t even be surprised at that by now.

 

She didn’t get a chance to follow it up, since the talks resumed soon after and then halfway through the afternoon, crisis struck – Matthews left, the meeting having apparently descended into a barely-civil row and they had a temporary adjournment for everyone to regroup and lick their wounds before trying to carry on. Julia couldn’t think that would be the ideal time to try and talk seriously to Edward and resigned herself to the fact that it would very likely have to wait until tomorrow when this affair was over.

The talks went on till dinner, which became a painfully civil affair full of stilted conversation about anything but business. That was bad enough, but after dinner, Mr Logan announced his intention to leave first thing in the morning, despite any matters that might still need resolving. It was, he said, a joke without Matthews present.

“If Matthews wasn’t going to deliver, you people could have saved me the trip,” he said to Edward. He kept his tone low, but he was clearly not far from letting go and yelling. “You certainly haven’t done yourself any favours with this farrago, and I’ve got nothing left to say.”

Edward inclined his head slightly, acknowledging the man’s complaint, and then said, “Mr Logan, I can only repeat that we had no idea about Mr Matthews’s change of heart, but I’m afraid that he is at liberty to do so. In the morning –”

“In the morning, I shall be out of here before breakfast!”

Julia stepped forward. “Excuse me, Mr Logan, but Mrs Logan wanted me to tell you that she isn’t feeling very well – I think she’d like to have a word with you, if she may.”

“Marie?” said Mr Logan. “Surely not?”

Julia held out her hands. “Well, that is what she told me.”

Mr Logan gave Edward another glare. “I’d better go see what that’s about, but, like I said, I’m done here – in the morning, I’ll be gone. Maybe you did everything you could, sure, but the thing’s turned into a farce.”

“Of course,” said Edward. “That’s up to you. However, there are some remaining options for us to explore and it would be a good deal easier to go over them with you in person here. If you would consider it?”

Mr Logan shrugged. “Maybe, maybe. I’ll let you know, Mr Iveson, but I suppose I’d better go see what my wife wants first. I’m in no mood to be played for a fool again, though – that I can tell you!”

As he moved away from them, Edward looked at Julia.

“What?” she said.

“I did _not_ ask you to do that,” he said, in a stiff undertone, evidently angry.

Julia only smiled at him. “Edward, if Mrs Logan doesn’t feel well, what do you imagine that could possibly have to do with me?”

 

Edward was still angry later when he came upstairs. Julia, who was already curled up in bed reading, looked up as he came in, raising her eyebrows at the way he was frowning.

“Damn them all,” he said, sitting down on the bed, and proceeding to fight a losing battle with his bow tie. “Five or whoever it was, Matthews, Logan, Sir Malcolm –”

Julia put her book down, moving across the bed to undo his tie for him, and then started work on his top shirt buttons. “Yes, damn them all,” she agreed. “Why did we invite them?”

“I’m not in the mood for levity,” said Edward and then made a half-hearted attempt to wave her away. “For heavens’ sake, Julia, stop that! What do you think I am?”

“Bad-tempered, evidently,” she said, ignoring him and instead removing his cuff-links next. “Tired, too, I shouldn’t wonder. Don’t take it out on me, Edward.”

He closed his eyes and pressed his fingers to his temple in weariness. “I suppose as long as the outcome is whatever’s best for the country, but, God, what a day! I don’t think I blame Logan for being angry.”

“Yes, quite,” said Julia, and kissed him lightly. “So you should get on and go to sleep, darling. You’re going to need to be diplomatic to some very uncivil people again in the morning.”

Edward opened his eyes again, regarding her with the faintest of smiles. “Julia,” he said. “Julia –”

She waited, thinking that maybe he was going to tell her about yesterday, or at least ask her what she’d wanted earlier in the day, but he only fell silent and continued to undress.

“Let’s just be thankful today is over, then,” she said, lying back down. “Everything else can wait until they’ve gone. Goodnight, Edward.”

She felt sure he remained there watching her for a while afterwards, but when she turned back over, he had disappeared into the bathroom. She wondered about saying something after all, but no doubt he couldn’t tell her fully what had happened, she could hardly tell him about her talk with Marie, and it clearly wasn’t the right moment for a confrontation about why he didn’t feel she should be one of the first people to know if someone tried to kill him. _Tomorrow_ , she thought, sleepily, _tomorrow_.

 

“Edward,” said Julia, sliding herself in through the doorway to Edward’s study after all the guests had left. “Now that’s over, let’s go outside for a little while. It’s all right – I’ve already let the nice policeman know. Come on.” She held out her hand to him. Edward hung back for a moment, reluctant to leave the papers and matters of state, and then he took hold of it, letting go of everything else.

It was a mild autumn day and whatever else Donningford might be, it was the perfect setting for a walk: the leaves on the trees were turning to gold and brown, falling against the green of the carefully tended lawn. The work of the landscape gardener who had long ago planned it out with an eye to the harmonious interaction of nature and artifice was still in evidence. It had a planned serenity that hadn’t been lost since the eighteenth century, no matter what affairs of state went on inside the house itself.

“I was right about the talks,” said Edward, “but wrong about why – about Marie. I suppose I panicked.”

Julia had her hand through his arm and now she leant her head momentarily against him as they walked, before looking up at him again. “Sometimes it’s not useful to know quite so much.”

“I do hope, though,” said Edward, “that whatever made them pull out is for some reason other than Logan himself or his company. Marie has had enough trouble for one lifetime.”

Julia shrugged. “Oh, it’s probably something imaginary or the promise of more money somewhere else. You can’t do anything, anyway.”

“I can’t even oversee a business arrangement like this, apparently,” said Edward. “There’s always someone or something, isn’t there, going on behind the scenes –”

She raised an eyebrow. “People like you, don’t you mean? Pulling strings, pressing buttons.”

“I was in the service a very long time ago now,” said Edward. “But, yes, I suppose that’s fair.”

Julia curled her fingers around his. “Well, if you’re feeling bad about it and you want a reminder of what the Foreign Secretary can do, you could always cause a war. It’s harder to stop one, but you might be able to pull that off with a little more work, if you wanted. Just get out an atlas and decide where to interfere, why not?”

“Yes, thank you, Julia,” he said, but he laughed. “I don’t think I’d better go that far.”

They halted, reaching one of the beeches. “I’m not interested in the Foreign Secretary, you know,” she said, reaching for his other hand. “I didn’t marry him, after all. Shall we leave him behind for the moment?”

“Julia,” he said, tensing, but not quite pulling away from her.

“I think you know what I mean.”

Edward nodded, and bent his head to kiss her briefly.

“Of course,” she added, “I do very much like his house, it has to be said.” And, as he laughed again, she turned her head towards him. “Ned, why didn’t you tell me what happened on Friday morning?”

He closed his eyes, and then drew back. “Ah,” he said. “You know.”

“You were planning on telling me at some point, weren’t you?” she said. “Or was I to read it in passing in a newspaper? Or, more probably, someone like Jack asking me about it in an interview and me getting to look even more ignorant than usual: ‘How do you feel about your husband’s brush with death, Mrs Iveson?’ You can just imagine it, can’t you?”

Edward shrugged. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to worry – and I simply didn’t want to think about it until this was over. Nothing actually happened, anyway. It was all rather ironic and stupid – and sad, to be honest.”

She hugged him, and didn’t care if anybody might be watching. “Well, I very much hope nothing like that ever happens again, but if it should, I don’t want to hear about it from one of your secretaries next time. Is that understood?”

“Quite,” said Edward, and he probably meant it, she thought, but she was resigned to the fact that Edward seemed to think the strangest things not worth saying. She’d fight him over it every time, but their marriage was full of such incidents and always had been.

Julia let go of him and then took his hand again. “We’d better go back. It’s nearly time to leave – and Emily will be waiting for us, poor child.”

Edward nodded, but he didn’t move away when she did, and she glanced back at him, lifting an eyebrow in query.

“One thing,” said Edward, “sometimes, Julia, you are completely – abominable. There’s no other word for it. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

Julia bit back a smile. “I should hope you did. That was rather the point. Now, come on, and you can tell me what you think of me somewhere more convenient.”

“Abominable,” said Edward again. He put out a hand to stop her, pulling her back to him, and kissed her again.

“Edward, somebody might be looking, you know –” She felt him laughing against her and stopped, looking up at him.

He was still laughing as he stroked her face. “Yes,” he said, grinning at her, “just think of the scandal! The Foreign Secretary kissing his own wife out in the grounds of Donningford. It might never have happened before in all its history.”

“Well, I am sorry,” said Julia, amused herself now, “but, as you may have noticed, I simply can’t have you kissing other people’s wives – tradition be damned.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Foreign Secretary’s country retreat is actually Chevenings, but that was only left to the nation in 1959. Prior to that, one of the other gov’t properties would have been used, most probably Dorneywood (now used for the Chancellor of the Exchequer), but since 1958 was too early for one and the latter wasn’t certain and both of those properties have been the subjects of recent scandals, I took the liberty of inventing a very similar Home Counties Georgian manor house instead.


	59. Disillusionment (PG, 1959: Ron Whittaker, Thomas Hallam, Alan Jemmings)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whittaker isn’t happy about anything this evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1959; Ron Whittaker, Thomas Hallam, Alan Jemmings. 
> 
> Prompts: White Chocolate #17 (disappointment)
> 
> Notes/warnings: discussion of blackmail & treachery. (I also think I had extended the death penalty for treachery given the fictional ongoing crisis.)

Ron Whittaker knew that Tom Hallam was currently frustrated, and that a frustrated Tom was a powder keg liable to go off at any moment. Despite his best attempts to be careful, he'd wound up on the worse end of his temper several times during their meetings in a backroom of a smoky working men’s club with a handful of others who also didn’t think the government was doing enough to handle the present crisis.

Tonight, however, was different. The meeting had largely been another round of complaints without solution, but Tom had throughout been reining in not frustration but something else, maybe triumph. He said nothing, however, until the others had gone and it was only Whittaker and Jemmings left.

“Come on, then, Alan,” said Tom. “Now’s your moment. Let’s see this document of yours and whether it’s as explosive as you think.”

Jemmings gave a smile. “Oh, I think you’ll find it is,” he said, as he pulled a folder out of his briefcase, and placed it on the uneven table between them. “And since it was passed directly to me, no one else knows. As you can see, it’s unquestionably from the Foreign Secretary’s office.”

“What is it?” asked Whittaker, twisting his head slightly to read it. When they both looked at him, he tapped a finger on the paper. “Naturally, I can see what that it’s confidential material, but isn’t that only what one would expect? I take it there’s something else?”

Jemmings glanced at Tom, who nodded, and then he leant forward. “This is leaked information. What’s more, it’s privileged information – very few people would have had access to it. It seems it came into the hands of a pressure group called United Europe via Julia Iveson. I take it the implications are now plain?”

They were, indeed. Whittaker subsided, engaging in lighting another cigarette, but he couldn’t keep back a sensation of dismay. A couple of years ago when he’d been a new, very green MP, he’d spent a lot of time at the Ivesons’s. Iveson had been very generous with his advice, never even hinting that he found Whittaker or his questions tiresome. Whittaker had grown impatient with Iveson since – he gave into Fields too easily in Whittaker’s opinion, and he never troubled to fully conceal his dislike of Tom – but he’d considered him to be too idealistic rather than the reverse. The mention of Mrs Iveson made it even worse. 

“Look, are you sure?” said Whittaker. “I can see the implications for us once it becomes public, of course – but what if someone else is the source of the leak, not Iveson?”

Jemmings lifted his head. “It’s irrelevant, if Mrs Iveson is involved. It’s still a scandal – and either he doesn’t know, in which case it’s going to be something of a shock to him, or he does and at the very least kept quiet about her activities. And now we can see why she married him. The man’s a traitor or a fool, or both.”

“I see,” said Whittaker, although his first, irrational instinct was to protest. If he was absolutely honest with himself, the initial reason for his drifting out of their circle was his decision that it’d be best to avoid seeing too much more of Julia Iveson. He’d not got beyond finding himself admiring her perhaps a little more than he ought, but it wouldn’t be wise – and, anyway, they’d always given the impression of having a good marriage. To find out that she at least must be in it for such reasons made him feel sick. It shouldn’t make a difference now, but he felt as if he’d been played for a fool.

Tom pushed the file back to Jemmings. “The question now is _do_ we make it public? The other option is to use it for leverage with Iveson.”

“God, no, Tom,” said Whittaker, that at least driving his disillusionment out of the forefront of his thoughts. “You can’t. Call it whatever names you like, that’d be blackmail. And if Iveson’s leaking information, that’s got to be stopped at once.” He felt another urge to protest again at the accusation: the Foreign Secretary wouldn’t leak information in that back-handed fashion – he wouldn’t ever need to. It was ridiculous, or it ought to have been, if the other two weren’t taking it entirely seriously.

Jemmings raised an eyebrow. “Send it through the official channels, you mean, Whittaker? You know what they’d do – deal with it discreetly. Iveson would resign for personal reasons, and possibly there would be an investigation later on, but chances are it’d be swept under the carpet rather than let it be known the Foreign Secretary was abusing his position in that way.”

“Well, send it to the papers, then,” said Whittaker. “That’ll be enough. What on earth can Iveson give you anyway?”

Hallam had a disturbing light in his eye. “Harding,” he said.

“Oh, now, look here, that’s preposterous!”

“He’s known him for years. He’ll have the information I don’t. Then there’s the aspect of trying to get a bit more sense into Foreign Policy – I mean, whoever Fields appoints in place of him would be inevitably more inward looking, but it’d be somebody new – someone we don’t have anything on. And Fields wanted Iveson for Foreign Secretary; his next choice might not be any better.”

Whittaker shook his head. “But it’s blackmail. Never mind what they do, are we going to stoop to that sort of level? What if Iveson refuses and resigns and tells Fields why? You’ll be finished, too. It’s not worth it.”

“He won’t do that,” said Hallam.

Whittaker found himself again in this uncomfortable, unjustifiable position of wanting to defend Iveson. “How the hell do you know what he’ll do?”

“He let his wife do this,” said Hallam. “If he’s willing to commit treachery for her, I’d imagine there are few things he won’t do to keep her out of prison. And treachery’s still a hanging offence, don’t forget. Besides, he goes along with Fields when he hates the man, all to protect a coalition he disagrees with – and to keep his position, of course.”

Whittaker got up. “Whatever you do, it’s your own business – but I won’t be a party to this. I don’t care what you say, if we cross the line into criminal activity, you tell me where it ends.”

“What do you suppose my people do all day?” asked Jemmings with interest. He waved his cigarette, leaving a trail of smoke in the air. “We do what we must to keep the country secure and sometimes, yes, that does include blackmail and other measures you’d call criminal. All done with the taxpayer’s money and you don’t mind because you don’t see it.”

Whittaker shrugged. “Oh, I expect you’re right. I’m being unrealistic – naïve, I suppose. But I draw the line at this. Whatever you do, just don’t tell me.”

Hallam rose, cutting off Jemmings in the beginnings of an angry retort. “Fair enough,” he said. “It leaves an unpleasant taste in my mouth, too, but I’ll do any damned thing I think will get results. I want to stop this country from going under, and we can’t leave it to Fields and his ilk, that’s become self-evident.”

“Yes,” said Whittaker. “I know. And maybe this makes me as bad as the rest of them, but I can’t go along with this. It’s not just about legality – I was – well, I suppose I’d have counted Iveson as a friend once. And whatever he’s turned out to be, I couldn’t go through with this.”

Hallam nodded. “See how far you get legally, Ron – and how far I get by my methods.”

“Oh, you’ll go far,” said Whittaker. “Seems this sort of thing is what it takes – so I should think my career won’t get much further.”

He walked out, angry, but underneath that, with a sinking feeling in his heart. He hadn’t wanted to hear that Edward Iveson had sold out his country, or that Julia Iveson was effectively a work of fiction, but it was even more uncomfortable to know how far Tom would go. And how far, he wondered, did any of them have to go before there wasn’t a country left worth saving?


	60. Nothing Is Secret These Days (PG, 1959: Thomas Hallam, Edward Iveson, Amyas Harding, Julia Graves)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“What sort of skeleton do you have in your closet, Edward, that you’d do this?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1959, following on from _Ultimatum_ (the prologue in this sequence). (Thomas Hallam, Edward Iveson, Amyas Harding, Julia Iveson.)
> 
> Prompts: Papaya #18 (method to my madness); Passionfruit #30 (We have forty million reasons for failure, but not a single excuse)
> 
> Notes/warnings: blackmail, betrayal, treachery, marital rows. From this point, the pieces chronicle the road to Hallam's dictatorship, with several unhappy endings.

“Oh, I’ll see myself in,” said Amyas Harding, at the door of the Ivesons’ London house, on being told that the Foreign Secretary was at home. He handed his hat to Crosbie, and headed for the study.

Iveson turned round when he came in with a guilty start. There was a brief flash of alarm in his eyes, before he masked it. “Harding,” he said, his tone neutral.

“I thought I’d come and tell you that I don’t think I shall be dining with you on Thursday after all,” said Harding, closing the door behind him. “I was going to telephone, but of course, you can’t trust them, not really. So I decided to come. I rather hoped I’d lead a trail of baying reporters to your door, but it seems I’ve finally shaken off the last of the bloodhounds, after all. More’s the pity.”

Iveson looked carefully blank. “I’m sorry?”

“Oh, must we have this tiresome pretence?” said Harding, with a sigh. “That was why I didn’t want to come to dinner, you know. It doesn’t do anything for the appetite, all that hypocrisy. It wasn’t hard to find out, Edward. I asked around, and anyway, not too many people know that old story. Or at least, they didn’t until this morning.”

Iveson looked down at his desk. When he looked back up, he said, rather blandly, “Was it not my duty to make such a thing known?”

“To the PM perhaps,” said Harding. “Someone else to whom it might concern – perhaps. A man who is faithless in one thing, you think, may be equally faithless in another, is that it? Quite, quite. But it’s not very friendly of you. Not even a word of warning that you’d sold all the details to the press.”

“Given, not sold,” said Iveson. “As you say – my duty.”

There was an old, hard armchair in the corner, and Harding sat on its arm. “Why did you do it, Ned? And don’t give me any of this nonsense about duty. I heard rumours about Hallam being at the bottom of it. Is that it? He put some kind of pressure on you?”

“You don’t seem to need me to tell you anything, do you?” said Iveson. 

Harding got to his feet again. “I feel a good deal more worried about that than anyone ought to be about my murky past. My, my, whatever sort of skeleton do you have in your closet, Edward, that you’d do this? And what will it be next?”

Iveson shook his head, but Harding to his surprise, was sure he caught him hiding a smile for a moment. “I didn’t say Hallam had anything to do with it. I told you. I decided it was my duty.”

“Or is it you?” said Harding, ignoring Iveson’s denials. “Am I to suppose you have some long-hidden desire to be Prime Minister, after all?”

Iveson shook his head. “Oh, no, I’d say that sort of thing is definitely more in our Mr Hallam’s line. Mark my words, Harding. Take that warning, in lieu of the other.”

“Much good that is to me now,” said Harding. He’d been angry enough about it all day, and hurt when he’d worked out the truth. Now, more than anything else, he was puzzled, and stung again by Edward’s refusal to tell him anything. Iveson was his junior and he’d given him a helping hand up a rung or two, and he didn’t deserve this sort of response.

Iveson said, “You’ll always find some way of doing something if you want to. I know that.”

“Well, then,” said Harding, giving up on being civil since it wasn’t getting him anywhere, “take care I don’t find out that skeleton of yours and return the favour! Better that way, I’d say, than letting Hallam pull your strings like this.”

“That would be impossible, I’m afraid,” said Iveson, in that annoyingly blank, polite manner of his.

Harding narrowed his gaze. “Or I could just make it up and get rid of you that way, couldn’t I?”

“You could,” said Iveson, “but it wouldn’t be a good time for a libel case for you, would it? Now if you’d like to leave, I’ll be sure to tell Julia not to expect you on Thursday.”

 

*

 

Julia slipped into the study, and across to Iveson, still writing at the desk. She perched on the other side, and said, “Edward, what did Amyas want? When I tried to speak to him, he just said goodbye, and that I had all his sympathy, so I assume you two have been arguing about something.”

“Not exactly,” said Edward, looking up, and putting the pen down. “To be honest, I think we agree in fundamentals.”

“How is he?” she said. “I saw all the papers, of course. Is that what it was about?”

“You could say that.”

Julia frowned. “Edward, as long as it isn’t a state secret, I think you’d better tell me what’s been going on, because I know there is something.”

“Yes,” he said. “Yes, I should. Yes.”

She waited, and when he still didn’t say anything else, she stretched a hand across to touch his arm, and said, “Edward.”

“Mr Hallam knows,” he said, adjusting the way the notepaper lay on the desk rather than look at her. “About us, I mean. Your involvement with United Europe. My complicity. The document.” At that, he did glance up with a small, almost humourless smile, because they both knew it really was ‘the’ document, the only serious leak that he’d been responsible for in these ten years, not that that made any difference to the offence. “He has a copy, and you see –”

Julia drew her hand back. “What?” she said. Then another thought struck her. “Edward. When did he tell you?”

“Last week,” he said, and gave her a worried look.

So he should, she thought. It wasn’t the first time he’d tried to keep things from her, and he knew how she felt about that. And also, she was – slow in the face of such news – beginning to realise the implication of his confession. “Then you should have told me,” she said. “You had no right not to tell me! And – did he ask for something from you? Is that what it was about with Mr Harding? _You_ didn’t tell that to the papers, did you? You wouldn’t, surely? Edward?”

“Mr Hallam made it plain that one cabinet minister’s name or another would be in the papers by today,” said Edward. “It was up to me which one. I did the best I could.”

Julia could have shaken him. “How _could_ you? We knew what we were doing – if you’d told me, I could have confessed, said it had nothing to do with you –”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Edward. “If they’d known solely of your involvement, or only of the loss of the document, then one of us could – well, perhaps. Don’t imagine I didn’t think of it. But Mr Hallam wouldn’t let it go at that – and certainly not that way round. He made that very plain. And in any case, he has that document. If such a thing goes missing from my office, it’s my responsibility, whatever the circumstances.”

Julia closed her eyes. They had, for the most part, been careful about everything, but that document – they’d been angry over the bombings in France and reckless in an attempt to prevent more loss of life. And while she couldn’t accept what Edward had done as an alternative, the thought of what would follow, of both of them being arrested, of where that would leave Emily… She shivered inwardly. 

“Even so,” she said. “Is it fair to do that to Mr Harding? And what next? Is that the last of Mr Hallam’s demands? I don’t think he’s the sort of man who’ll say thank you nicely and then go away and forget about it. Either there’ll be something else he wants from you, or he’ll make this public anyway, won’t he? You should have told me, and we should have faced it.”

Edward looked down at his notepaper again. “I am doing what I can. I have – I have what you might call an exit strategy.”

“That doesn’t sound very hopeful to me,” she said, trying to keep a lid on her anger until she’d got more of the facts out of him, but it was hard work. “What do you mean? Are we all going to escape in the dead of night?”

“Something like that. You and Emily to Amy in Canada, if you can. Me later to the mainland, if possible. Unless –” He hesitated, and glanced at her sidelong. “Unless you have alternative arrangements?”

Julia nearly laughed, although there really wasn’t anything funny about it. “Oh, I see. You think I might vanish along some underground route, known only to the movement? Would that make things easier? Well, I’m sorry, darling, but there’s no such thing, not as far as I know, and I wouldn’t take it if there were – well, I wouldn’t have done up until today!” She got off the desk. “I can see why you didn’t tell me. Which possibility made you the most afraid? That I was going to disappear, or that I was going to run and confess the whole to someone?”

“No, no,” said Edward, getting to his feet, to intercept her by the study door. “Julia! I always thought I’d accepted the cost, but I’d never really believed in it – or thought – I don’t know, but – what we’ve done, this particular incident may constitute treachery. Bad enough to be in breach of the Official Secrets Act, but you do realise that the death penalty is still on the books for that?”

“But it’s still what we did,” said Julia. “To do what you’re doing is to expect someone else to pay for our actions.” She couldn’t help but feel chilled at the idea of facing the death penalty, though; of either of them hanging for it.

“Yes,” he said, suddenly sounding weary. “Yes. I know. But it was always my fault, not yours, and I can’t – I won’t have them take you for it.”

Julia shook her head. “You can’t say that.”

“But it’s true,” he said, moving a hand as if to reach out to her and then letting it fall back. “And they’d be bound to think it was the other way round, wouldn’t they?”

Julia backed up against the door. “And so instead you’re going to sit here carrying out character assassinations of your fellow ministers whenever Mr Hallam says so? If he doesn’t ask for anything worse! And you expect me to sit by while you do – or run away to Canada, of course. _If_ we can.”

“Is it character assassination if it’s true?” said Edward, distracted by the thought, which didn’t mitigate Julia’s anger. He must have seen something of that in her face, as he moved forward suddenly, catching at her hands. “Julia. I am doing what I can – I said I had a strategy –”

“And getting rid of Mr Harding, who is surely best placed to deal with Hallam, is somehow part of that?”

Edward looked guilty, but then nodded. “In a way. Not ideal of course –”

“Oh, you think not?”

“Yes,” said Edward, letting go of her. “And, God help me, I almost enjoyed it.”

Julia glared at him. “You can’t play chess with people, Ned! Whatever it is you’re planning, it doesn’t make any of this any better.” Then she took a deep breath and one more step back to the door. “We’ll try and talk about this tomorrow, when I just might be able to do it without throwing things at you. In the meantime, if you come anywhere near me again tonight, I swear, I shall go straight to Scotland Yard and tell them everything and to hell with it all – and you!”

She shut the door firmly on the way out, careful not to give into the temptation to slam it, in case it brought Emily down. Oh God, she thought, they had both been so _stupid_. They could easily have rewritten this story into something harmless, and instead they’d insisted on turning something straight-forward into something complicated and dangerous. There had always been reasons for that, or excuses maybe, but that was what they’d done. 

Julia took refuge in the sitting room, tears prickling behind her eyes, though she refused to let them fall. She thought for a moment of carrying out her threat anyway, just to bring an end to it, but she couldn’t, any more than Edward could find it in him to tell Hallam to go away and publish the facts. Neither of them had ever been able to contemplate handing the other over like that. Oh, God, she thought again, the fear biting into her, they had been so very stupid from the start, and it was never going to end well.


	61. Gambit (PG, 1960: Edward Iveson/Julia Graves, Diana Foyle)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julia thinks Edward has gone too far this time – she thinks they both have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1960\. Edward Iveson, Julia Graves, Diana Foyle.
> 
> Prompts: Passionfruit #18 (Temptation had its way with my companions), White Chocolate #4 (corruption)
> 
> Notes/warnings: continues themes of betrayal, blackmail, treachery etc.

Julia often threatened to throw things at Edward, and while she didn’t usually follow through, today had been exceptional and so she threw the bookend at him. She was still furious at him for letting Hallam blackmail him in the first place – for what he was prepared to do to cover up their mistakes. It wasn’t getting any better, and this latest incident was outside of enough. Throwing things, she felt, was about the only thing anyone could do in response.

“Oh, don’t look like that, Ned,” Julia said, folding her arms against herself. “It was nowhere near you – more’s the pity.”

He picked up the bookend and replaced it carefully on the shelf.

“And it’s an awful old thing anyway,” she said, with a nod at the object, as if that was the point.

Edward said nothing then, but when she turned to walk out, he surprised her by catching hold of her wrist and pulling her back. She looked up at him, uncertain suddenly, as if seeing him anew for the first time in months.

“Julia,” he said, not raising his voice. “I won’t make excuses, but this isn’t only about Hallam. I reported Diana’s conduct for reasons that I think she will understand, even if she doesn’t want to thank me for it. I didn’t invent the incident, you know. Diana did misappropriate those funds. Do you think I wanted to do this? Do you think I like working out which member of the cabinet to attack next?”

She pulled her arm away from him, finding herself no longer steady. “I don’t know, Edward. _Do_ you? Because sometimes I think you might. And I don’t care what other reasons you have. You may have forgotten what I owe Diana, but I haven’t!”

Edward closed his eyes and when he opened them again, he looked away from her, over at the picture on the wall. “I’m doing the best I can,” he said and then gave a slight, weary shrug. “You’re right – it isn’t enough.”

Julia wouldn’t answer now: she knew that angry as she was at him – despite everything, she expected him to have come up with a solution by now – much of her rage was directed at herself. If Edward had bowed to Hallam’s demands rather than take the fall, then she had equally refused to act, and their reasons were the same, she knew.

“I need to say something to Diana, actually,” he said. “I was wondering if you would call –?”

Julia glared, and wished she hadn’t already thrown the bookend. “No, Edward, I _wouldn’t_. I don’t know if I ever can again! If you’ve got something to say, then you had better go and tell her yourself, if she will listen to you. Apologise if you can, and just hope she doesn’t feel as inclined to throw things as I do!”

*

Diana Foyle, now ex-Minister of Housing and Local Government, raised her head to look at her visitor. “You’ve got a nerve.”

“Yes, sorry. I’d imagine I’m the last person you’d want to see right now.”

Diana shrugged. “No, no, the last person I’d want to see right now is Stephen, the same as ever.”

“You know why I did it, don’t you?”

She closed her eyes. “Yes. Damn you.”

“What were you thinking?” he said. “After last time, didn’t you think that people would be keeping a closer eye on you? To even contemplate it a second time – if it is only the second time –”

Diana leant back against the sofa. “I know. Alex – Alex was in trouble. It was to hand, easy to pay back later. And I would have done. I know as well as you do that I’d be asking for trouble after last time.”

It would be useless and unkind to say that as far as Edward could see, her son was about as bad as her husband. It might also be untrue, so Edward kept quiet and instead held out a hand towards the nearest chair, raising an eyebrow in query.

“Oh, yes, do sit down,” she said, opening her eyes again. “If you must.”

He did so. To reveal her previous indiscretion allowed Fields to request Diana’s resignation and there might be an enquiry, but the fact that the missing funds had been repaid would mitigate matters. To have given the full truth would have resulted in a much more drastic fall from grace for her, and inevitably arrest and prison. That didn’t make his actions any better, however, and he knew it.

“I need to tell you something,” he said. “I’m afraid that what I did had very little to do with your interests – and there’s nothing praiseworthy about it.” Then he gave a slight smile, inclined his head slightly to one side as he looked at her. “But first, how would you feel about moving to Birmingham?”

That caught her attention. She lifted her head again, arching an eyebrow. “Is that a joke? Would you say things are that dire?”

“It’s not a joke,” Edward said, though he gave a smile. “And I’m afraid things might be far worse than most of us care to imagine.”

Diana lit a cigarette. “Well, congratulations, you certainly have my attention, Edward. Go on.”

“Bear with me,” he said. “It’s something of a long and complicated story.”

She shrugged. “Thanks to you, I’ve got nothing better to do for the foreseeable future. And, all right, I know, I know – it’s thanks to me and thanks to Stephen –”

“And thanks,” said Edward, leaning forward, “to Mr Hallam.” 

*

Julia waited for Edward to come back, sitting straight up in the armchair, not doing anything. When he walked in through the door, she shut her eyes.

“While you were gone,” she said, “I phoned the police. I decided that this has gone on for long enough and no matter what happens, we have to stop it now, before Mr Hallam uses you for anything worse.”

She opened her eyes again, then, and looked over at him, in time to see him stop where he was, the blood draining from his face.

“And then I hung up,” she finished. “I couldn’t do it.” She’d heard the voice on the other end and couldn’t speak. She couldn’t tell anyone what they’d done, not knowing what would happen when she did. If she could have told them it was her, only her, she might have managed it, but it was too late for that.

Edward crossed over and crouched down in front of her. “Julia! You mustn’t do that. I told you – I am doing what I can, enough to try and damage Mr Hallam’s plans. And I won’t remain in this position any longer than I have to, but I hope to get you and Emily out of here at least. Promise me you won’t try that again – not yet, anyway, not yet.”

“I can’t do it anyway,” she said, and leant forward to hold him, bridging now a divide that had been growing between them ever since Thomas Hallam had first made his threat to reveal their crime. She let herself slide off the chair in front of him, and tightened her hold on him, burying her head on his shoulder, her hands in his hair. “I despise myself, but I can’t. I thought, even if I could make them believe it was only me, they’d shut me away from you and Emily – for the rest of my life. And more likely, they’d take both of us away –”

Edward tightened his hold on her in return, kissing her hair. “I know, I know. I won’t let it come to that. I promise, Julia, I promise.”


	62. All Eventualities (PG, 1960: Julia Iveson, Thomas Hallam, Alan Jemmings, Edward Iveson)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julia’s got an unusual request to make of an old friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1960, Julia Iveson.
> 
> Prompts: Chocolate #22 (anticipation), Prune #25 (put your money where your mouth is)
> 
> Notes/warnings: more blackmail, treachery, mention of a gun.

“You shouldn’t have come,” said Colonel North, greeting Julia Iveson with a kiss to the cheek as she stepped into his study. She’d driven out to visit; the Colonel and Mrs North lived in a small village as yet just outside the reaches of London’s depredations. “The wife’s not having one of her good days.”

Julia stepped back. “Well, I am sorry to hear that, sir, but it was actually you I came to see this time. Is she very bad?”

“Oh, so-so,” he said, and waved a hand, evidently not wanting to talk about it further. “Now, then, what did you want?” Then, before she could answer, he coughed, and added hastily, “Sorry, should say would you like anything – tea – coffee – something stronger?”

She shook her head. “No, no, I’m fine, thank you.”

“And how’s that husband of yours, eh?” said the Colonel. “Holding the government together, no doubt?”

Julia tried to smile at the joke, but was only glad the Colonel was unaware of the irony. “Oh, I think that’s Mr Fields’s job.”

“Well, even he can’t keep them together for much longer,” said the Colonel. Then he gave her a sharp look. “Is that it? That what you’re worried about, my dear?”

Julia moved towards the chair he offered, but didn’t take it, merely fingering the back of it distractedly. She was thinking of Hallam, and his visit to Edward the day before yesterday, as she had been almost constantly since.

 

_She’d listened at the door to the study when they were talking – Hallam, Edward, and Jemmings – though it didn’t do her much good. She could hear only odd words that Hallam said, mostly only the tone he used, but that had been enough to make her blood boil. She couldn’t bear him sounding so contemptuous towards Edward. And then she’d thought about how long this had been going on for already, and let her rage be frozen out by fears that she wouldn’t name._

 

“It’s not good, of course,” Julia said, “but it’s not really that – the government is always very melodramatic about how disastrous it’ll be if it falls, but usually everyone seems to pick themselves up without too much fuss. I am wondering, though, if this time might be different. Falling is one thing; being pushed is another.”

“Well, I know nothing about politics, my dear,” he said, stopping to cough. “I sit very comfortably in my armchair over there these days, that’s all.”

Julia patted his arm. “Oh, Colonel, I’m sure that’s not true. Anyway, the thing is, you’ve said several times you’d teach me to shoot. I wondered if you meant it.”

“Good Lord, what brought that on?”

“Or,” she said, “possibly lend me a gun. A handgun, I mean. I’m sure you’d know the sort of thing.”

The Colonel turned to give her a stern look. “Not planning to murder someone, are you? Because I couldn’t possibly be a party to that. Especially not if it’s Edward. Knew his aunt well. His father, too, when you come to it.”

“I hope that’s merely a joke in very bad taste,” said Julia. “Otherwise, how could you ask?”

“It’s the sort of thing one reads about.”

“No,” said Julia. “No, I’m not. Not at all. I’m merely wondering about the future. And you _did_ say –”

“Oh, yes,” he said. “Yes, yes.”

She crossed to the window, stopping well behind the net curtains. “See that car over there? The man in it has been following me for quite some time.”

“Hmm,” the Colonel said, still sounding understandably dubious.

Julia turned back round. “What do you know about Thomas Hallam?”

 

_Hallam had walked straight past Julia on his way out of the house without even giving her the smallest acknowledgement in passing. If he was contemptuous of Edward, then she might as well not exist as far as he was concerned._

_“Mr Hallam,” she’d said, causing him to turn and stare at her. “If you’ve got what you wanted, why don’t you stop now, why don’t you leave us alone?” It was pointless, of course. Stupid even, but she had been too furious to keep silent._

_He hesitated, as if he was considering not even troubling to answer, and then said, “I’m not finished,” he said. “When I am –” He halted and shrugged._

_“We had reasons for what we did,” she said, still more angry than wise. “What’s yours for blackmail?”_

_Hallam leant forward. “Saving this damn country,” he said. “But perhaps that’s something you aren’t concerned with, Mrs Iveson?”_

_Julia bit her tongue then and clenched her fists, letting him walk out, wishing he was long gone already._

 

“And,” Julia added, “there’s a Mr Jemmings, too. I thought you might know him. He’s in the military, I think, or intelligence.”

The Colonel sat down slowly. “Ah,” he said. “Ah, Major Jemmings. Yes, I’ve heard of him, and your Mr Hallam. Seems to be worryingly popular in some quarters, Hallam. Can’t imagine why.”

“Yes,” said Julia, and crouched down beside his chair. “One doesn’t like to exaggerate and talk of coups and conspiracies, but I think – I think –”

 

_She hadn’t been watching Alan Jemmings, and she’d started when he’d touched her arm._

_“You ought to be grateful you’re useful,” he said, in her ear. Hallam, whatever he was, probably did believe in what he was doing. He might not even be wrong. Jemmings was another matter; that was instantly clear. “If you weren’t, that information would be where it’s supposed to be, and where the hell do you think that would leave both of you? And when and if Mr Hallam is done with you, I might still have to make sure that happens. Certainly if you don’t behave, anyway.”_

_Julia stood very still. “Yes, I do understand,” she said, controlling her temper with an effort. “Now, I suggest you leave!”_

 

“Well,” said the Colonel. “Don’t understand why you’re talking to me about it. Surely that’s much more in Edward’s line?”

Julia gave a smile. “Not _shooting_ someone,” she said. “He’d be horrified at the idea.”

“Look,” Colonel North said, “if you’re planning to bump off this Hallam fellow, I’m not sure I’m not, too. Always thought you were such a nice little soul.”

Julia had to laugh. “Thank you. Honestly, I’m not, though. I rather wish I could – I think it might save us all an awful lot of trouble, but of course, who can be sure of that until it’s too late?” 

 

_She’d been standing there, shaking with rage, all the more so because Hallam and Jemmings had reason to blame her and Edward. But what excuse was that for blackmail, for plotting to seize power – or for Edward for helping them?_

_“Did he threaten you?” Edward asked suddenly, from behind her. She wondered how long he’d been standing in the doorway._

_Julia turned around. “Not really,” she said._

_“Well,” Edward said, suddenly at his most vague, which was never a good sign, “let me say that next time you decide to listen at the door, I hope you’ll be more discreet. I had to keep rustling the papers on my desk to cover for you.”_

_Julia hurried over before he could decide to retreat inside and shut the door. “Oh! Really, you couldn’t possibly have heard me!”_

_“Julia,” he said, taking hold of her by the shoulders as she reached him. “You remember what we agreed? You should go. Now. Soon. By the end of the week. No later. You and Emily. I have matters ready.”_

_Julia had said nothing, only pressing her head hard against his waistcoat and thinking about killing Hallam. She could give a dinner party, including Mr Hallam in the invitations, only his should have the wrong date, and when he arrived – alone – she could shoot him, if she had a weapon. Then she had to think about how exactly one would hide a shooting in the Crescent or dispose of the body. It was only the fury, she decided. She wished he’d die, and for a moment she thought she’d like to be the one to do it, but she didn’t really. It was only a feeling._

 

“Protection?” said the Colonel. “I see. You’d have to be careful. Much better chance of shooting yourself or someone else you didn’t mean to, you know.”

Julia leant against the wall. “That’s why I hoped you’d help. And I have done some weapons training. Only I never actually had to use one.”

“Weapons training?” said the Colonel. He blinked. “Good Lord. Have you?”

She nearly laughed at her error, and said, “In the war.” As if that explained everything, when she’d done secretarial work in the war.

“I know it sounds silly,” said Julia, “and I’d like to think I’ll give the wretched thing back to you in a month or two and laugh over it all. But I’m afraid of what’s going to happen, so I want to be prepared for anything.”

“And what about your husband? What does he think?”

 _Who knows?_ thought Julia with a sigh. Then she smiled again at the Colonel. “I know he has a plan, but I think that between us we may need to cover all eventualities, that’s all.”


	63. Treachery (PG, 1960: Edward Iveson, Alan Jemmings)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jemmings doesn’t understand the truth of anything, but Edward prefers it that way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1960; Edward Iveson, Alan Jemmings.
> 
> Prompts: Flavour of the Day (25/11) – uxorious. (1. _doting upon, foolishly fond of, or affectionately submissive toward one's wife._ ) Flash fic.
> 
> Notes/warnings: the blackmail/treachery plot continues.

“You may as well sit down,” said Edward, not looking up as he wrote out the cheque. “If you can only assert your moral superiority by standing over me, then it can’t be worth much. But then,” he added, as he handed the cheque up to Jemmings, “I don’t believe you are.”

Jemmings shrugged. “Whatever I may be, I’m not the one who’s so besotted with his wife, he’d betray his country.”

“No, your reasons are different, aren’t they?” said Edward, glancing up this time, resting his chin on his hand, a smile playing about his mouth. “But here we are. That’s the trouble with fellows like us, isn’t it?”

Jemmings folded up the paper, but sat down at last. “Like us?”

“I know you’re in the service and in the circumstances you must know that I used to be,” said Edward, as if it was all a matter of mild curiosity. “This is what it comes to: we can’t quite leave it behind, can we? Or it doesn’t leave us. We’ve learned to look for the illegal moves in the game and sooner or later, we’ll do it for our own purposes. I was in a rage when I gave away that piece of information, but what would someone else have done? Made the grand dramatic gesture and resigned or held their tongue and protested only behind closed doors, I suppose. Or, of course, as Foreign Secretary, I could have spoken to the French Ambassador directly and had the devil of a row with the PM later before resigning for personal reasons.”

“But you wanted to make your protest _and_ keep your wife happy.”

Edward tidied the papers on his desk, hiding further amusement. “Anything for a peaceful life,” he agreed, with full solemnity. It hadn’t been that, of course, because Julia wasn’t what Jemmings thought her, but what he had done was probably worse. He had been angry, of course – angry at what he saw as his country betraying itself – but when she’d made the suggestion of fighting back via her old contacts, he’d seen that it was a way to get the information through and remain in place to oppose Fields and his damaging policies, and he’d taken it. 

“And you,” he continued, “this information falls into your hands, and instead of passing it on to the proper authorities, you view it as a tactical advantage for your friend Hallam. Maybe that’s all you see – his vision for getting the nation back on its feet – but give me leave to doubt it, so I feel you should drop all this moral outrage while you’re squeezing a few extra pennies out of me. It’s more than a little hypocritical, don’t you think?”

“You could refuse,” said Jemmings. “You could put a stop to this any time you liked. If you don’t because you’re so scared of losing her, then I do have the moral high ground. My God, you’re the bloody Foreign Secretary!”

Edward got to his feet, tucking his pen into his top pocket as he crossed to the door. It was time for this meeting to end before he said anything unwise: it was much better for Jemmings to misunderstand him than to understand him too well. Mind, he wondered wearily, perhaps the man did see right through him, after all, and he was nothing but a coward and a traitor. If supplying Julia with sensitive information had been the only way to keep her, what would he have done? To hold her that way would have been a punishment in itself, but to lose her . . . It was impossible to say.

“It’s despicable,” Jemmings said as he rose. “Does she even care about you?”

Edward turned, not yet opening the door. “Yes, yes, I suppose it is. Despise me all you wish, Major, if it makes you feel better. In the meantime, allow me to return the compliment – or perhaps I shall merely pity you instead. You see, you don’t know what it is to have a wife like mine – and I don’t believe you ever will!”


	64. Legend's Ending (PG, 1960: Edward Iveson/Julia Graves)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julia can’t leave this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1960\. (Edward Iveson, Julia Graves.) Julia's attempt to leave the country is unsuccessful.
> 
> Prompts: Chocolate #6 (grace); Papaya #16 (what would I do without you?)

Julia stepped into the bedroom. “Edward.”

Her husband was sitting on the end of the bed, sorting through a case of papers he’d fetched out from underneath it, and only looked up slowly, before giving a belated start. “Julia! What happened?”

She smiled at him, more sadly than she had intended, and sat down beside him on the bed, disturbing the papers. He didn’t protest as he usually did. 

“Someone followed us,” she said, keeping her voice carefully even in case someone was listening. They might be.

“You’re sure?”

Julia nodded. “Oh, yes. So I got out two stops early and took Emily to a tea shop. Then we went shopping for a new blouse for school – and then we came home.”

“You didn’t try again?”

She shook her head. “I didn’t think we’d lost him and, anyway, that was when I realised that I’d never have gone through with it.”

“But we agreed!” he said, and looked at her closely. “Julia.”

Julia put her hand to his arm. “I know, and I thought I could do it for Emily, but I simply can’t. You know what happened in the war. And I know what you said, but I feel sure if I leave now, I won’t see you again. I can’t, Ned, I _can’t_. To walk away, and never look back – and always wonder what happened to you, to everyone – no, not again.”

“Julia,” he said, and then closed his eyes.

She leant further forward. “I know what I’m saying. I know what the risks are. I’ll take my chances, even if it does mean prison. And I know we were thinking of Emily – but perhaps that isn’t fair to her, either. I wasn’t so much older than she is now when Mother left me at school. But we’ll think again, and if we can’t get her out of the country to Amy, then we’ll find someone else who will have her if the need arises – I’m sure Nancy would if it came to it.”

“But we agreed,” he said again, though with far less conviction.

She made herself laugh. “There’s no point in arguing. Honestly, even if I did change my mind, it really doesn’t look as if they’re going to let either of us leave the country.” She pushed against him lightly, arm to arm, and then kissed his cheek. “You do understand, I know you do. And I think – I believe we should stay together for as long as we can.”

Edward dared to look at her again, brushing her hair back with his hand, as if to see her face more clearly. “You’re sure? You’re absolutely sure?”

“Of course I am,” she said, and leant in against him, her forehead against his jacket. “You don’t still think that I don’t love you, do you? How could you?”

He held onto her, laughing slightly. “No, no. Only sometimes I –” He stopped, evidently giving up on explaining the doubts that would persist.

“How insulting,” she said, and looked up at him with a smile. “Plenty of other people worked that out a very long time ago.”

He kissed her head, stroking her hair with his hands. “But you do know that this is – well, this is the end.” He gave another brief laugh. “Good God, how melodramatic that sounds. But it is true, I think.”

Julia nodded. “What else can we do? Poor Emily.”

“We’ll make sure she’s safe,” he said, at his most solemn again, and he caught at her hands. “I promise.”

Julia kissed him in return.

“Forgive me,” he said, and she didn’t take much notice then, hanging onto their somewhat undeserved happiness together for a little longer, but it came back to her later, and she understood what he must have meant; the weight the words carried.


	65. Exit Strategy (T, 1960: Edward Iveson, Sydney Elliot)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whatever Sydney Elliott expected on being asked to meet the Foreign Secretary, it wasn’t this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> late 1960, Edward Iveson, Sydney Elliott.
> 
> Prompts: Chocolate #27 (determination), Passionfruit 17 (make of thy gentleness thy might)
> 
> Notes/warning: espionage; discussion of (planned) suicide.

“This is pretty irregular, you know,” Sydney Elliott said, sitting down in a spare chair. He looked around with disfavour at the small and run down civic hall, where the Foreign Secretary had been giving a talk. The room was empty now, all rows of battered wooden chairs, scratched floorboards, and chipped institutional green paint on the elderly radiators and the walls. “Bit beneath you, isn’t it, sir?”

Iveson turned around, still sorting his papers on the table at the front. “Is it?” he said vaguely. “I thought it would do.”

“Sir,” said Elliott. “You do know I could be in trouble with my superiors for this?”

Iveson gave a slight smile, as he shut the papers in his briefcase. “I don’t believe it would be the first time, Mr Elliott. However, you’re right. Neither of us wants to be here too long. I don’t have much time spare before my next meeting, either. I’ll explain as briefly as I can, but it is rather complicated and I want you to understand. What do you think me, Mr Elliott? Honestly, please.”

“Honestly?” said Elliott. “Can’t say I’ve given it much thought, Foreign Secretary.”

Iveson gave him a sharp look. “If you hadn’t before, then you will have done on the way here. Humour me, Mr Elliott, if you will.”

“Well, I don’t know,” said Elliott. “I heard Mr Hallam had you doing his dirty work, and if that’s true, either you’ve got one hell of a skeleton in your closet or you don’t have much backbone. Sir.”

Iveson nodded, and sat down two chairs away from Elliott. “And who’s to say which is true?” he said, but clearly more to the empty hall than to Elliott. “You don’t know why?” he asked, and when Elliott shook his head, he rubbed his fingers across his forehead wearily. “Then I must explain.”

“I didn’t come out here to listen to excuses. Sir.”

“Bear with me,” said Iveson. “We’ll get to our requisite destination presently. And, yes, it’s true. On both counts, I suppose you could say. Mr Hallam has been very busy indeed. And I must be honest, now, mustn’t I? So many of these things I did out of cowardice of one kind or another. However, I haven’t acted entirely without some sort of strategy of my own. You see, Hallam is right about one thing: Fields cannot be allowed to continue in office, and he has an iron grip on his position, so to assist in breaking that was perhaps not so wrong. But if he goes, Hallam must not step into the vacancy, certainly not in the way I now know that he intends to.”

Elliott shrugged. “There’ll be an election soon, one way or another.”

“There may not,” said Iveson. “I don’t know what Hallam’s original thoughts were, but he thinks that desperate times require desperate measures. He’s been working to bring down the government, create a chance for himself, but I think he feels that a chance isn’t enough. It must be a certainty.”

“So why help him?”

“I have no choice,” Iveson said. “The only choice was in which manner to help him. I could refuse and be the first cabinet minister to resign in a flurry of scandal, or I could oblige him by talking rather indiscreetly about some of the others.”

“And you chose the latter?”

Iveson looked away from Elliott, staring ahead at the podium instead. “The alternative wasn’t shame and resignation, Mr Elliott. Had I, ah, disobliged him, my wife and I would be found guilty of treachery and of breaking the Official Secrets Act, and probably one or two other things. That, of course, is something your department should already know, but somebody there kept back important information and gave it to Hallam instead, which is where our interests start to dovetail.”

“What exactly are you saying, Mr Iveson?”

“You’ve heard of the United Europe organisation?”

Elliott shrugged. “Yes, but they’re not a serious threat, are they? At least –”

“Even so,” said Iveson. “The Foreign Secretary shouldn’t be married to a member of such a group, peaceful or otherwise, and he most certainly should not pass on sensitive information under any circumstances. I’d imagine you’d agree?”

“Look, I can’t ignore this now you’ve told me, can I? What the hell do you want?”

Iveson frowned again, as if he had a headache. “Major Jemmings,” he said. “He was the one who gave that piece of information to Hallam. He’s assisting him in other ways, too. I’ll give you all the information I have.”

“Even so, I can’t –”

Iveson turned again. “Mr Elliott, if nothing else, you agreed to come here today and hear what I had to say. If you will allow me to finish?”

Elliott held up his hands and subsided. Besides, he’d been uneasy about one or two of Jemmings’s activities lately, and if Iveson had something to say about that, then it was worth his while to listen.

“I have reason to believe that Mr Hallam will have someone, no doubt organised by Jemmings, cause some sort of disaster – something serious enough that Hallam can have Martial Law declared –”

“That’s ridiculous.”

Iveson looked at him. “Is it? Because if it isn’t, then it’s part of your remit to stop him, and with Jemmings at work, the whole service is thoroughly compromised. Whom can you trust even in your own department, Mr Elliott?”

“All right, then,” said Elliott. “What’s the deal? This information in return for getting you out –?”

Iveson sighed and shifted in his chair, looking thinner and more faded suddenly. “No, no, what use would that be? I doubt you could. They’re keeping an eye on me. I hope this meeting isn’t observed, after all, though I think not. And it’s not only Hallam now. Do you know, Major Jemmings evidently wants some sort of security of his own for if this falls through? He asked me for money yesterday, and then I knew it was time to stop. I’m a liability, Mr Elliott, but you needn’t worry – I’ll remove myself from the equation.”

“Sir –”

“What you do then is to make sure that they don’t take my wife, Julia – that the whole business about the document isn’t made public. It shouldn’t be difficult. My removal will cause enough trouble for Hallam to do what he wants. Speculation is better than hard fact, and if Julia vanishes – well.” Iveson gave a slight smile. “And it will save them having to explain to anyone that they knew the facts and kept them to themselves. So much less awkward. But then you will have Julia, who has contacts with the group.”

“These United Europe people?”

“Yes,” said Iveson. “Not ideal, I realise, but Hallam’s isolationist policies give them every reason to support you, and you’re going to need contacts outside the service, or no doubt you’ll find your activities curtailed very rapidly. Do you understand now?”

Elliott hesitated; he did, of course. He should object, he knew, but he could see Iveson’s point. “Wouldn’t it be better,” he said, “to make all of this public? Take the fall, but take him with you?”

“I’m hardly a reliable source, am I?” said Iveson. “In any case, no. No. Perhaps I should, and believe me I’ve thought about it, over and over, but I will not have Julia handed over to the authorities.”

Elliott avoided the other man’s gaze. “She might prefer it to your alternative.”

“But it still wouldn’t necessarily deal with Mr Hallam,” said Iveson. “Would it?”

“Doesn’t sound as if anything will, not easily, not for certain.”

Iveson watched him. “Of course, if you wish to go and inform the Director or whomever you choose, I can’t prevent you. But you won’t, will you? You see my point, and in your profession you have to be a pragmatist. Ruthless even.”

“I’ll consider it,” said Elliott. Iveson was right about that, but it didn’t mean he was comfortable with it. Then he shifted on the hard seat, having to enquire further, despite that discomfort. “And when were you planning – I mean –?”

“Soon,” said Iveson, getting to his feet. “Maybe even by the end of this week. Things have finally gone too far, I think. If you agree, on Wednesday, you will receive a file containing the relevant information I’ve collected, in addition to some instructions, money, and some further contacts. I do, however, need to ask you for a favour. You’ll see to Julia, but there’s also our daughter. Whatever happens, she needs to be somewhere safe, out of the way of all this.”

Elliott nodded.

“Good,” said Iveson. “I realise it’s a lot to ask, but I sincerely believe that our friend will attempt a coup, and somebody has to do something.”

Elliott also stood. “Look, sir. Let me think. Maybe there’s an alternative again – if what you say is true, we could use a strategist.”

“I’d be in prison at the very least,” said Iveson. “Not a great deal of use to anyone. You’ll have my notes. They’ll be more helpful, I assure you.”

“Sir –”

“Yet more cowardice, you think?” Iveson said, almost whimsically. “You could be right. So much of it has been – but I will not, I cannot sacrifice Julia.” He stared back at Elliott, who looked away again, hearing the strain in his voice. Elliott had thought until then that the Foreign Secretary seemed remarkably calm, and he realised now how stupid that assumption had been. “You do understand?”

Elliott leant on the back of the nearest chair. “I don’t mean to sound callous, but what happens if you can’t go through with it?”

“Is that an offer?” asked Iveson, with sudden, morbid humour. “Or a threat?”

“A question.”

Iveson took a few steps away, towards the door, and then turned back. “Well, if I fail, then I suppose we shall have to try and take Hallam down with me, as you said, but I really don’t have much confidence in our chances, do you?” Then he straightened himself. “I trust I can rely on you to be careful in leaving?”

“I’ll give it a while and take the side door,” said Elliott, almost mechanically, such precautions being second nature to him. “I’ll do what I can, sir – provided your evidence backs you up.”

Iveson gave a brief nod. “Thank you.” Then he added, rather oddly, and if it mattered to him, which it couldn’t. “You _do_ understand, I think?” 

“Maybe.” Elliott shrugged. “Better than hanging, drawing and quartering.” They’d brought the Treachery Act back into force a few years ago, and the death penalty was still on the books for that. Maybe nobody did any drawing and quartering any more, but hanging wasn’t out of the question, neither was the firing squad.

“Something along those lines,” said Iveson, drawing himself up, sounding weary again, and Elliott got the feeling he had missed the point. “All being well, Mr Elliott,” Iveson added as he left, with the ghost of a smile, “we won’t meet again.”


	66. End of Days (PG, 1960: Edward Iveson/Julia Graves)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here, at the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1960; Julia Graves/Edward Iveson. 
> 
> Prompts: Chocolate #24 (peace)

After Julia’s failed attempt to leave, neither of them had said much, but the worst of the anger and strain of the last few months seemed to have faded. They’d recognised the difficulty of the situation, but the fact that either of them could have stopped it if only they’d had the courage or the will to sacrifice the other, had been a constant accuser. The ending would have to come now, Julia knew, so it was hard to waste any more energy on blame or regret. She closed her eyes, putting down the book she’d been reading for a moment, and when she opened them again, she saw Edward standing in the doorway.

“Julia,” he said, crossing over to the bed, and sitting on the edge of it, beside her. “I was thinking – perhaps we can try again, perhaps we can get you away.”

She turned her head towards him. “I told you. Never.”

“But don’t you regret it?”

“Nearly three whole days have passed and I haven’t changed my mind,” said Julia. “If I am going to, it won’t happen that quickly, Ned.” She still felt tired – as if she’d come through the storm for now, beached with nothing left to do about it. 

He nodded minutely in acknowledgement, leaning in nearer to her, and she could hear something of the same weariness echoed back in him. “I felt the need to ask again. Foolish of me, I know. Sorry.”

Julia said nothing, merely putting her arms around him. It was the end, and they both knew it. There was no more time for games. She stroked his hair, and, with nothing left to lose could tell him the truth, state it merely as a fact. “Yes, well, you never have understood, have you?” she said. “You always seem to think it’s just you, but it’s not. I should have tried to get information out of you, but I didn’t. When you made that proposal, I should have laughed at the idea, but I didn’t. I tried to leave once before, and I couldn’t. And I can’t stop this, I can’t do the right thing any more than you can, and for the same reason.” She gave a slight shrug, and a laugh, putting her hand to his face. “You’re my undoing. You always have been.”

“Julia,” he said, drawing back.

She gave him a wry smile. “Oh, I don’t know why. I’ve never been able to work it out. But what happens now – we’ll face it together.”

“No,” said Edward, with a sudden flash of intensity, catching at her hand, “no, we _won’t_. That’s the thing.”

“Well, until that comes,” Julia said, still without the desire or the energy to think about it further, “Ned, please, just stay here with me.”


	67. Disconnected (T, 1960: Julia Iveson, Nancy Long, Sydney Elliott)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s a man at the door with the worst kind of news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> late 1960, Julia Iveson, Sydney Elliott, Nancy Long.
> 
> Prompts: Papaya #25 (the last word) + Malt – Valentine Box prompt ( _"The most terrifying words in the English language are: I'm from the government and I'm here to help."_ \- Ronald Reagan – promisesesimorp.)
> 
> Notes/warnings: major character death, implied suicide.

Julia carried her overnight case down the stairs, putting it down as she stopped in the hallway to collect her hat and coat, preparing to leave for home again, when the doorbell rang. She started at the noise, and then pressed herself back against the coat rack, allowing Nancy to hurry past her to answer the door.

“Mrs Iveson?” the man at the door said, stepping into the hall. He was a stranger: brown hair, blue eyes, not especially remarkable or threatening, but Julia knew he couldn’t be here for any good reason. “I’m from the government – I need to speak to you.”

Julia was ready to bet he was from the security services, and she caught her breath, wondering if she was going to be arrested. Maybe someone had finally informed the authorities about the leaked document? She kept hold of her coat, hugging it tightly.

“I’m not Mrs Iveson,” Nancy told him, turning her head back to Julia in concern.

Julia made herself step forward, into his line of vision. “Yes?” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “What did you want?”

“If there’s somewhere we could talk in private –?” the man said, looking between Julia and Nancy. Nancy pushed open the sitting room door, though she raised an eyebrow at Julia, ready to accompany her if she wanted it. Julia shook her head in return.

Julia walked into the room, and looked back at him. “Well?”

“Mrs Iveson. I’m afraid it’s bad news.”

Julia backed up against the wall. “Bad news?” she said, and her thoughts flew straight to Edward, though she tried not to follow them yet.

“It’s your husband, Mrs Iveson. I’m very sorry, but I have to inform you –” He hesitated, watching her. “Look, there’s no easy way to say this. He missed an appointment this morning, and when they made enquiries, they found him in his study –” He waited again, but she refused to acknowledge where this had to be going, not making it easy for him. “I’m afraid he’s dead. I’m sorry.”

She clutched at her coat still tighter, and shook her head in denial. “No, no,” she said, and wondered why she suddenly felt so cold. 

“I’m going to need you to come with me, Mrs Iveson. I’ll explain everything I can on the way.”

She would have backed away still further if she hadn’t already been up against the wall. “Why should I? Who are you? How can I know that any of this is even true?” It couldn’t be, she told herself. It was a lie, or some horrible mistake.

“I’m going to take you back to town,” he said. “You can collect your daughter, and then I can take you both somewhere safe. Mrs Iveson?”

Julia shook her head again. “No. I’m not going anywhere with you until I have some reason to believe you. It would have been on the radio – in the papers –” And, beneath her protests, she wondered what Edward had done, and how –

“It will be soon,” the man said. “Midday bulletins, evening papers. Bound to be.” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a folded letter, handing it to her. “You’ll find I’m acting on Mr Iveson’s instructions.”

Julia took the paper, seeing Edward’s handwriting – her name. She opened it up automatically, and then halted reading at the first line, and folded it again, unevenly, her hands shaking. “Get out,” she said, raising her voice. “Get out, go away!”

“Is everything all right?” Nancy asked, pushing the door open and giving the visitor a hard stare. “Julia?”

Julia drew in her breath, trying not to lose control. She was suddenly absolutely furious, a taut line of anger running through her, and she retained enough awareness not to want to unleash it onto Nancy, but she couldn’t keep it all back as she turned to face her. “He told you to ask me down here, didn’t he? _Didn’t he_?”

“Edward?” said Nancy, and then nodded. “Well, yes, I’m afraid so, but I don’t understand –”

Julia swallowed. “He used you to get me out of the way, and now he’s dead. Do you understand now?” It was no way to break the news, but she couldn’t help it.

Nancy stared back at her, visibly pale. “My God, you don’t mean that?”

“And you,” said Julia, rounding on the stranger. “You, whoever you are, you came here with this, running down before anyone else had heard the news. You _knew_ what was going on and you did nothing, and you think I’m going anywhere with you –”

“Julia –” Nancy said. She looked at the visitor. “You heard her – go, leave her here with us. We’ll take care of her.”

The man moved forward, ignoring Nancy. “Mrs Iveson, I’ve said, I’ll explain further in the car. You’re going to want to see your daughter, aren’t you? You won’t be detained. What you do now is your choice, but I told you: I’m acting under instructions from your husband.”

Julia closed her eyes and tried to focus on breathing. “All right,” she said. Then she turned back. “Nancy –”

“I know, I know,” Nancy said, and then looked past Julia to the man. “I’m permitted to tell the rest of the family, I take it? There’s my mother and my sister – they’ll need to know.”

The man nodded. “Family, yes. Best to, before it hits the news. Once it does, you can tell anyone you like.”

 

Outside in the car, Julia said, “Who are you? You still haven’t even said that much.”

“Sydney Elliott,” he told her. “Look, I know this is a shock. I’ll explain everything properly when you’re ready for it, but Mr Iveson wanted me to get you and your daughter safe if anything happened. To say that I knew what he had in mind is an exaggeration. All right?”

Julia nodded, not trusting herself to reply to that.

“Now,” said Elliott. “Shall we go?”

Julia said, “Yes, but first you take me to Edward. I have to know that this is true – I have to know before I say anything to Emily. I can’t – I need to see him.”

“I don’t think that’s wise.”

She clenched her hands into fists to try and keep them from shaking. It didn’t really work. “I don’t care if it’s wise or not. I have to see Edward. And if you refuse, then I will be prepared to cause an accident, or – you know, as it happens, I have a gun in my bag. I’m sure you’re more proficient with them, but you’re driving. Oh, and, stop, turn back!”

“What?” Elliott said, blinking at her sudden change of mind.

Julia said, “We can telephone the school from Nancy’s – they’ll make sure that Emily doesn’t hear accidentally. Just in case.”

“Fair enough,” said Elliott, and reversed back down the lane.

Julia got out again. She felt strangely calm, which couldn’t be right. She didn’t believe it, that was all, she told herself. Because it wasn’t true; it couldn’t be true. “Will it be dangerous, do you think?” she asked Elliott, looking back into the car. “To see Edward.”

“No,” he said. “Shouldn’t be. I just don’t think it’ll do you any good.”

Julia drew back. “I really don’t care what you think,” she said, and went back to use the telephone.

 

“Mr Iveson was worried about Mr Hallam,” said Sydney Elliott, speaking carefully, once they were back on their way again. Between that and his frequent, nervous glances at her, she felt as if she was being regarded as a bomb that might go off at any minute. “And since Alan Jemmings is in on it, too, my department is compromised, so I need other help. You have contacts, so if anything was to happen to Mr Iveson, he said to fetch you and we’d see what we could come up with together. When you’re ready, of course. I know this won’t be – well, I’ll explain it all later.”

Julia traced her fingers against the passenger window, unsure whether she was trying to listen or trying not to listen. Just don’t think about it yet, she told herself. It couldn’t be true, it wouldn’t be true. It was all another game. “I’ll be a wanted criminal,” she said. “If – if he’s – if he’s no use to them any longer. Didn’t he tell you that?”

“In the circumstances, no, you shouldn’t be,” said Elliott. “That’s part of the point. It’s in the letter and like I said, I’ll explain at a better time.”

Julia shook her head. She wasn’t reading the letter. There was no letter. Oh God, she thought, if Edward was alive, she was going to have to kill him herself. 

“You got through to the school, then?”

Julia nodded, but she wasn’t really listening. Edward would be alive, she told herself, never mind all of this. It was much the same as her attempts to leave. She’d agreed to it, helped plan it, but when it came down to it, she couldn’t go without him. It would be the same for him, she thought. It would be; it must be.


	68. Moment of Truth (T, 1960: Julia Graves, Sydney Elliott)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is only one way to make this real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> late 1960; Julia Iveson, Edward Iveson, Sydney Elliott. 
> 
> Passionfruit #13 (The world's floors are quaking, crumbling and breaking), Papaya #6 (don’t look down) + Malt – Valentine Box – (" _And all I can taste is this moment/And all I can breathe is your life"_ Iris - Goo Goo Dolls from rainechan)
> 
> Notes/warnings: suicide, major character death.

It was funny how alien the house seemed to look already, as if it was smaller, emptier, and the furniture askew. That was no doubt only Julia’s imagination, but other things weren’t. As Sydney Elliott led her inside, they walked past one policeman at the door, and there was another standing outside Edward’s study. Julia had to press her hands against herself, wanting to tell them to leave. They didn’t need to be here; somebody had got things terribly wrong, that was all.

“Mrs Iveson needs to see her husband,” said Sydney to the policeman. “You can come in with us, make sure we don’t meddle with anything, but I think that’s reasonable, don’t you?”

Julia didn’t listen to the man’s answer. She walked forwards, towards the door, but slowly. Now that she’d been granted her request, she suddenly didn’t want it. All the way here, she’d been telling herself it couldn’t be real, or that she needed to see for herself that it was, and now she hesitated at the door, wanting to stay in a moment of time when there was still some doubt; when Edward might still be alive.

 

Edward looked at first sight much as if he had fallen asleep at the desk, except she knew that wasn’t true. The room was too still – he was too still. She didn’t look any closer, not wanting to see any other, more distressing confirmation. And it was cold, she thought with a shiver. Cold as a mortuary, though the two men didn’t seem to find it so. 

Until now, her younger brother was the only dead body she’d seen. Every other death had been at a distance; there was always a sense of unreality to it. This was real now, though: far too real. She reached out a hand to touch him, as she had all those years ago with Rudy (Edward had been standing nearby then, even though she’d barely known him), and then she pulled back. Once was knowledge enough; she didn’t need or want that in her memories of Edward.

She saw, instead, other times in vivid, erratic flashes of memory: she remembered gripping his hand as they walked away from the registrar, still almost strangers. She’d held on so tightly, he’d turned to glance at her in concern.

“It felt so like lying,” she’d said, when they were safely out of earshot. “I hadn’t thought.” There hadn’t been chance for him to reply; he merely kept hold of her hand in return, and she'd edged closer to him, as if by doing that she could make it not be a lie. It seemed to have worked: she thought now with all her being that it was not then and never had been a lie, marrying Edward.

Still she stretched out her hand again, near to his head, though she let it fall back a second time. (His hair, still thick, but prematurely grey, white even. He’d minded it, she knew, but she’d always told him it suited him). She knew in another while she’d be angry at him, at other people, but in this moment of facing the truth, she could only blame herself, going over all the things she could have done to stop it coming to this. 

She closed her eyes. She’d known from the start what his reasons were, but she’d played along with the game. And then there was the document, the thing that had started all of this. He would have resigned, she knew. That evening, drafting out his speech, more furious than she’d ever seen him before: what he’d meant to do was resign. She was the one who’d stopped him; she was the one who’d suggested they finally use her contacts and his position, the way they’d so carefully avoided until then, always tiptoeing around the issue. 

She’d killed him, she thought, and felt sick and unreal again, finding it hard to breathe. She seemed to be at a distance from herself, sure that she was going to do something uncomfortably drastic – cry, or strike someone, or throw up – with no control over what it might be.

“Mrs Iveson,” said someone from a hundred miles away. She didn’t know whether it was Elliott or the policeman; her vision was darkening. She realised then that she was about to faint, and, out of the available options, felt almost relieved that was all.

 

“I did say it wouldn’t do any good,” said Elliott, in the sitting room afterwards. He handed her the mug of hot, sweet tea as if under protest. 

Julia shook her head. She was shaking too much to take the cup, but it had to be done, she thought. It was the only way she would ever have believed it, but, oh God, it felt as if she might as well have killed part of herself, too.


	69. betrayal is a cancer (let it eat your soul) (T, 1961/1924/1935/1943/1947/1948/1958: Edward Iveson/Julia Graves, Emily Iveson, Elizabeth Iveson, Marie Werner, Amyas Harding)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward Iveson, and betrayal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1924, 1935, 1942, 1947, 1948, 1949, 1958), 1961; Edward Iveson, Julia Graves, Emily Iveson, Elizabeth Iveson, Marie Werner, Amyas Harding. 
> 
> Prompts: Peach #2 (the moment you’ve been waiting for); Sangria #7 (They sicken of the calm, who knew the storm)  
>  **Toppings/Extras:** Gummy Bunnies (also for square “atonement”).
> 
> Notes/warnings: Impending suicide, suicidal ideation, treachery, abandonment; one final wander up and down Edward's timeline. (Written later than the rest around this point - not to be morbid, but because I didn't think I'd ever really covered why Edward did what he did.)

<<1924>>

Edward sits on the back doorstep, arms around his knees and stares out at the garden, trying to pretend he’s not scared. Mother said she’d be back before too long, but it already feels like hours and hours, and there’s no sign of her yet. He hasn’t had any dinner and it’s starting to get dark. If it weren’t for Mother, he thinks, he’d run away.

He drags himself up and hammers on the door yet again. “Mr Taylor!” Surely, he thinks, even if Mr Taylor won’t let him in, Jennings will. He’ll glare at him and be mean, but he won’t keep him locked out here. No one but Mr Taylor would do that.

But nobody answers and after a while longer, Edward gives up; leaning back against the against the cold bricks of the wall, shivering and beginning to wonder if it’s possible to die out here in the night, if maybe he’ll freeze or starve still sitting on the back doorstep. He’s old enough to know that’s probably impossible but logic doesn’t seem very convincing in the face of the ever encroaching dark.

When Mother arrives, she ushers him in with her. She doesn’t say much, but he can tell she’s angry from the way her face tightens, the way she moves. He sits in the kitchen, rapidly warming up and kicking his feet against the chair as he awaits the sandwich she’s making for him. As he eats it, he listens with satisfaction to her shouting at Mr Taylor in the study. _Make him go away_ , he wills her. _Take us away._

The next morning, however, he hears her talking to his aunt on the telephone as he’s coming down the stairs and, forgetful of not eavesdropping, sits down halfway in sick dismay.

“He can’t stay here, not after this,” Mother says and Edward, half a flight above her, knows she means him. “If you meant what you said, then I’ll have to take you up on it. You _can_ still have him for the summer?”

 

_Suddenly there’s so much to be done and so many people in the way. Edward understands now something of what Julia means when she complains about other people in the house, but he’s Foreign Secretary. There’s no way to make them leave._

_Today, it bothers him as it never has before: he fears one of the secretaries will read his mind, or the security detail will search his desk and find out his secrets._

_More importantly, they’re getting in the way of what he has to do. So many things, so little time. Every last heartbeat suddenly so important. International affairs barely matter at all; they shrink into insignificance while the small things expand to encompass everything._

_He steals time from the Bulgarian Foreign Minister to find his daughter, to say goodnight._

_“After tomorrow,” he says, giving what warning he can, “I shall be away.”_

_“Again?”_

_“Again.” He brushes a hand against her cheek. “For a long while, I’m afraid.”_

_Emily screws up her face. “Daddy,_ when _will you stop being very important?”_

_“Soon,” he says. “Soon.” He kisses her goodnight as if it’s an ordinary day, and leaves._

 

<<1938 >>

Edward stands in the doorway, finding his heartbeat sounding loudly in his ears as he waits.

When Marie opens it, she smiles.

“I came to apologise,” he says, trying to sound formal, the perfect civil servant, but he’s stumbling over his words. “For – for my behaviour last night.”

Marie inclines her head to one side, just a fraction and raises an eyebrow. “Oh, honey,” she says. “Nonsense. You weren’t that bad.”

He colours immediately and loses even the bare pretence of trying to be official. “Marie!” He catches himself. “Mrs Werner, I should say.”

“No, no, I understand,” she says. “You aren’t resigning after all, and you don’t want scandal. That’s just fine by me. So, now you either thank me nicely and go, or you come in and stop trying to make a scene in the doorway.”

Last night had been one thing – last night had been in revenge at the world, at the law, at Caroline – but today is another entirely. Edward can’t be happy having an affair with a married woman, no matter how little she says her husband minds. There’s no future in it and surely hurt for someone in the end. He’ll thank her and go, that’s what he’ll do.

He steps inside instead, betrayed by himself: he can’t keep away.

 

_He fears he’ll back out when it comes to the point. He always does. He has always been a coward, always been weak._

_This time, he thinks, this time the alternative might be bad enough to force his hand._

 

<<1943>>

It doesn’t matter how well it goes or how badly, it’s the idea, the process, that’s at the heart of the issue. Edward walks into a bare office, armed only with information, and from the safety of a chair behind a table, says everything he can to get the other man to risk his life.

It doesn’t work an awful lot of the time, but it’s easy to try. A spy has already made that agreement once before, why not again, for them? It’s a game and one tries to steal one’s opponent’s pieces from the board and turn them back against them, to find the best positions for them. It takes skill to do it well, and there’s a thrill to it: all you need, just once in a while, is the right piece of information to be able to scare, coax or bribe the enemy into a betrayal of their side.

It’s necessary; it’s for the war. It’s just that sometimes the game isn’t a game. Sometimes Edward isn’t in the office; sometimes he’s in a dingy flat in Deptford or wherever it is this time, trying to contain the damage as someone else gives way under the stress of the pretence. Not everyone can do it, and few people can do it for long.

When he has his assignation with Peggy, he can’t get it out of his head: that someone like him called her in, asked her to put her life on the line. _Can you forgive us?_ he wants to ask, but of course, he can’t. If he could, what could she ever say anyway?

 

_“Get me Whittaker,” he says again to one of his personal secretaries in passing, but still he can’t get a response out of the man. He’s away – or refusing to return the Foreign Secretary’s calls._

_If one piece rolls off the board, do you lose the game?_

_“Damn him,” says Edward under his breath, but sometimes the right key simply won’t fall into your possession._

 

<<1958>>

He’s never been so angry before as when he hears that Fields has ordered the raid on France, on Paris. The Prime Minister has gone against all his advice, so Edward writes out his resignation, he drafts out a speech to the Commons, all fire and condemnation. He’ll make the House shake a little before he leaves it.

Julia’s furious, too, though; that’s the trouble. She’ll return to the organisation, she says, if he can’t do anything – try at least to get information through, and save what lives they can. Edward wonders what she might try to do while he withdraws from the arena.

Then there’s the uncomfortable fact that if he resigns, Fields will put someone in his place who’s far more amenable to his hard line policies.

It’s a small thing in the end to betray his country. One piece of paper copied and passed on. 

It’s the same as ever, moving the pieces on the board. It’s about logic: Julia’s contacts, his information, and his presence to block Fields when he can. His mind still works that way.

That’s when he realises that he will have to die sometime sooner rather than later. That is the penalty for treason, and someone will have to see it executed. It occurs to him even then that it might have to be him.

 

_There is nothing he can say to lesson his betrayal of Julia and plenty he could do to worsen it. He ruthlessly carves out a few minutes for her, sending away the private secretary, the undersecretary, the personal secretary, and anybody else still hovering around, taking her hand before she can leave._

_She thinks she understands – they’re waiting for the axe to fall, waiting for their crime to be laid bare to the world, to be caught and sentenced – so she sees nothing odd in his behaviour._

_“You don’t think someone will come now, do you?” she asks._

_Edward shakes his head, and kisses her cheek. “I don’t see any reason why they should, not yet.” She’ll hate him come the morning, he knows. There aren’t many things he could do that she would never forgive, but this is undoubtedly one of them. He releases her and smiles. “Say hello to Nancy for me.”_

_He doesn’t have to do anything more. She does the rest, stretching up to kiss him more firmly, holding him too tightly, just for a moment before letting go and straightening his jacket and tie. “Darling, I can always telephone Nancy and say that I can’t go, not this time.”_

_“What has Nancy done to deserve such cavalier treatment?” says Edward lightly. “Go.” He thinks about saying she’ll see him tomorrow, that he’ll still be here, but it would be painful sophistry._

_He isn’t sorry, he thinks almost savagely, as she leaves. He looks back on all of it and he can’t find it in him to be truly sorry. He’d rather be in this mess now and have had these years with Julia than have lived differently and not known her, or never won her. He’s never understood how he has. He has regrets, but he’s not_ sorry _, or not enough._

 

<<1948>>

Edward’s a new MP and it’s a privilege to be invited to Amyas Harding’s. It’s also a test of sorts. Harding can and usually does drink anyone else under the table. He seems, Edward’s begun to think, to like trying to find out all he can about his colleagues. It’s not a worry for Edward; he’s been in the service long enough not to be easily careless if only a little drunk, and when very drunk, he’s has a tendency to say less, not more.

Maybe Harding’s worked that out for himself; maybe that’s why he tells Edward an indiscreet tale about his an affair with the wife of a prominent figure – so prominent Edward’s sure he’s inventing it all. Or maybe Edward’s been in the service too long, seeing traps everywhere and Harding has no agenda, not tonight.

“There must have been someone, eh?” Harding says, bringing the conversation back round to Edward. “If not, there should have been, Iveson!”

Edward shrugs. He can’t talk about Marie because she’s alive and he can’t talk about Peggy, because she’s not, but he’s somewhere at the line between mildly drunk and very drunk, enough to tell the truth this once. “Maybe. Nothing that lasted.” Edward leans his head against the side of the leather armchair. “Last year. There was someone – a girl – I met once.”

“That isn’t a fair exchange,” says Harding, and it isn’t.

“Just once,” says Edward, more to himself than to Harding. “She won’t remember. And if she does, she’ll hate me.”

 

_Edward has explained to Harding, to Diana, to some of the others, the threat that Hallam poses, but none of that erases what he did to them; the secrets he gave away or sold. To save his skin, to save Julia’s, he did what Hallam asked and brought down his fellows. He needs the right people on the outside, he thinks, but it’s not an excuse, and shame is hard to shake off. Maybe he hasn’t judged it right; maybe all he has done is give Hallam the advantage he needs. Even what he does tonight will play into their hands – Hallam and Jemmings and the others._

_Edward makes his way to the study and sits at his desk. He pulls off his tie. He’s going to do what he must when the time comes; he isn’t afraid of failing any longer. There isn’t any time left; he knew that when Jemmings started demanding money. (Hallam wants the country; Jemmings is more practical). There is no other end, and after all this time trying to hide the guilt, to obey Hallam, to find hidden ways to fight, to fear for Julia, and for Emily – all Edward truly wants now is the end, any end at all._

 

<<1947>>

The morning after his encounter with Miss Graves, Edward gets up and dresses with more than his usual care, trying to come to a decision. 

He can almost feel her still beside him in the morgue, if not breaking, then certainly cracking under the weight of tragedy. He stares into the mirror unseeing and straightens his tie for the third time.

He could go round to see her. He has the address and the perfect excuse – their families’ connection. He can say with complete honesty that he feels obliged to call, that he knows his mother and aunt wouldn’t have him do anything else. It would merely be natural to ask if there is anything he can do to help.

He silently debates it again. He can’t trust his motives; he’d be taking advantage of her grief. She’s staying with someone, a friend, or a more distant relation, he’s not sure, but she has help already. Edward is the last person in the world she’ll want to see now. He can imagine her expression only too well if she opens the door and spies him there; the look of bafflement and horror that will inevitably cross her face. He brings with him the shadow of death, he always will.

Edward swears and pulls off the tie, changing it for another, not much different. He can’t, can he? He can’t plague her with unwanted attentions at a time like this.

What he learns, weeks later by chance, is that what he’s done is far worse: he’s left her to the mercy of other people who’ll take advantage of her situation more surely than he ever would and have no compunction about it. It’s too late for him to help. The only thing he can do now that won’t make things worse, he does: he walks away and pretends he never saw her. He doesn’t do what they pay him to do; he doesn’t put her name in the file. He never will.


	70. Bleeding Out (PG, 1961: Julia Graves, Diana Foyle)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julia’s contact unexpectedly turns out to be someone familiar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1961; Julia Graves, Diana Foyle. (What happened with Emily and Julia post-Edward's death is dealt with in some of the multi-era sequence pieces, hence the gap.)
> 
> Prompts: White Chocolate #10 (agony), Cookies & Cream #22 (lean), Sangria #18 (I am terrified by this dark thing that sleeps in me) + Gummy Bunnies (also for origfic_bingo square “reunion”).
> 
> Notes/warnings: grief, references to major character death & suicide.

Julia stepped off the train at Birmingham New Street, standing on the soot-darkened platform for a moment with a small case in her hand. Everything she had dared take with her was in it, and there was a label tied to it that was intended to alert her contact to her identity. She shifted her hold on the case, making sure that the tag was visible when she was unexpectedly seized upon and enveloped in a hug.

“Julia, my dear!” said Diana Foyle, pulling back and taking the case from her, as she led her to the steps up and away from the long, gloomy platform. “I can’t tell you how relieved I am to see you.”

Julia had to blink back tears, undone by the unexpected friendly welcome. “I had no idea it was you I was meeting.”

“Well, that’s the problem with all this hole and corner business, isn’t it?” said Diana, taking Julia’s arm. “Come on – this way. You needn’t say anything until we’re home.”

 

Diana found a cab and ushered Julia into it, occasionally dropping in light snippets of society news, evidently as cover since Julia didn’t recognise many of the names. Julia stared out of the window at the unfamiliar streets disappearing past her in a blur, and saw her ghostly image reflected over them. She closed her eyes, not wanting to see. Easier just to look at the meaningless houses and concrete than to try and make sense of who she was becoming now in the wake of Edward’s death.

“You look done in,” said Diana. “Poor darling.”

Julia shook her head, not wanting kindness. She’d held herself together so far by not thinking too much about any of it and she might fall apart if Diana continued to be so sympathetic. Ever since she’d heard the news – since she’d seen for herself that it was true – she had concentrated on the next thing to be done, and then the next. She’d taken care of Emily and followed all of Mr Elliott’s instructions. It allowed her to push the rest of it to the back of her mind and function in a state of numbness where most things remained safely unreal.

“Well, we’re here,” said Diana, and gave Julia’s arm a quick squeeze before opening the door and paying the driver, while Julia shuffled across the seat to follow her.

 

The house was one of a long terrace, a line of solid Victorian three-storey with darkened bricks. Julia wondered if it was Diana’s own house or a safe house, but it didn’t matter, and it didn’t do to ask. She stood there in the shadowy, cold hallway feeling suddenly bereft. She would rather have kept moving, she realised.

“Diana,” she said, shaking herself out of her abstracted mood. “I have a message for you.”

“Yes, yes, I’m sure,” said Diana. “Hand it over, and then go upstairs and simply rest. You really do look done in, my dear.”

“It’s very kind of you, but I have things to do.”

Diana drew back again, and hesitated on the point of saying something before she gave a shrug and then led Julia up the stairs. “I’m sure you do, but I expect most of them can wait a little while. And besides –” She bit back further words, and then, as she opened the nearest door to let Julia pass through, she said, “No, damn it. Julia, I don’t care. You’ll stay here until you’ve got some proper rest and then you can decide what you want to do for yourself. Edward can’t dictate to you from beyond the grave. It isn’t right!”

Julia caught her breath at the name. Everyone else had been so careful to avoid mentioning him if they could. She wasn’t sure how to respond, so she merely shook her head.

“He can’t,” said Diana.

Julia swallowed. “I was sent by my contact.”

“Yes, but it is up to you. I’m sure MI5 can cope without you. Nobody’s indispensable. Now, go in, settle yourself down. I’ll let you know when it’s time for dinner.”

Julia walked into the room as Diana followed, placing her case on the carpet. It was a small but light room, probably halved in size when someone had put in the bathroom next to it. “It’s very nice,” she said, but perfunctorily. “Thank you.”

Once Diana had left her, Julia busied herself with unpacking and making sure she still had the message straight, keeping her focus still on the next task in hand. It worked, and that was the important thing.

 

Julia woke in the night, jolted out of a sad dream, and finding tears still running down her face. She pushed herself up – and saw someone standing by the doorway in the gloom. She bit back a sharp cry, terrified, and unsure if it was only another dream or not.

“It’s only me,” said Diana, hastily moving forward. “I’m sorry. I was crossing the landing and I thought I heard you call out. I suppose you must have been dreaming.”

Julia sank back into the pillows in relief, but she could feel the edges of the nightmare still, and then, as she reminded herself that it had only been a dream, what was real returned to hurt all over again. “Yes, only a dream – sorry.”

“Nothing to apologise for,” said Diana, but she didn’t go; she sat on the end of the bed. “Would it help if I stayed with you for a bit?”

Julia closed her eyes, wanting to cry again suddenly, and nodded. She had never cared much for being alone and her world was suddenly empty again of the people she loved the most – Edward, Emily, the Longs, even Mrs Crosbie. It was too much to take in, too much to think about, which was why she didn’t. Edward’s death alone was too much. She swallowed. “If you honestly don’t mind.”

“I wouldn’t have offered if I did,” said Diana, and climbed into the bed next to her. “Well, as long as you don’t snore too loudly. Then again, I doubt it – I don’t suppose Edward would have remained so besotted if you had!” She turned her head. “Oh, dear. I should watch my tongue, shouldn’t I? I _am_ sorry about everything, you know, but what good does saying that do?”

Julia gave a slight laugh. It did hurt, but it also felt better to think of Edward in some capacity other than Mr Elliott’s talk of Mr Iveson’s instructions, or of how he’d looked that morning when they’d found him.

“Julia,” said Diana. “You can go to Emily and be safe – keep her safe. She’ll need you more than any of these others. That’s the important thing. I don’t really care whatever Edward said or thought – I doubt he was entirely himself by that point anyway.”

Julia felt her chest tighten, because she wanted to go back to Emily so much it was a physical pain, but everything was more complicated than that. “I don’t see that you can talk. He was the one who asked you to come here, wasn’t he?”

“And I chose to do it,” said Diana. “It was a fair deal, I think, all considered. It’s you I’m worried about.”

Julia turned towards her. “Yes, but only part of this is what Edward asked. Once it’s done, I could join Emily – except I don’t believe I can. We’d be easier to find together than apart and now I’ve got back in touch with United Europe, they might be after me, too. And I’m the one who did this, you know. I’m the one who’s actually the traitor.” If she hadn’t suggested that they use the organisation, if she hadn’t taken the document, if she’d let him resign. She felt the panic begin again, and shifted herself so that she could breathe. If she had only let him resign…

“And so,” she said, “I’m not going to Emily after this is done. I can’t go back and deal with all of this – I simply can’t. What I’ve decided I can do, however, is make Hallam pay.”

Diana gave a soft sound that might have been a small, wry laugh. “I suppose I can get behind that.”

“I can’t go home anyway,” said Julia. “And that’s my plan, not his.” Only Edward would think she could go home and be with Emily, when she was to blame for so much of it and now she had to live with his death as one of the consequences of that act. Just thinking of it made her feel cold and sick, as much as it ever had. 

“Well, then,” Diana said slowly. “I’m sorry. I think I understand, and I’m sorry.”

Julia nodded. “Yes,” she said. “It is a shame. My plans are usually the very worst, you know.”


	71. I Hear the Sound of Empires Toppling (T, 1961: Ron Whittaker, Julia Graves, Thomas Hallam, Alan Jemmings)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If it’s come to this, Ron thinks, it must be the end of the world…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> early 1961; Ronald Whittaker, Julia Graves, Thomas Hallam, Alan Jemmings. 
> 
> Prompts: Prune 6 (shoot first ask questions later), Sangria 19 (Rage, rage against the dying of the light), White Chocolate 22 (lethargy) + Malt – Birthday prompt ( _The waters turn from blue to red_ from likelolwhat).
> 
> Notes/warnings: grief, references to major character death, bombs.

It had come to something, Ron Whittaker felt, when Mrs Iveson came to call and wound up pointing a gun at him.

Times had begun to take a strange turn, it was true, what with the resignation or death of so many members of the Cabinet, including Iveson, but Julia Iveson taking such measures seemed so unlikely, he was almost more startled than scared.

“Mrs Iveson,” he tried tentatively, pulling at his collar. “Perhaps if you could put the gun down and we could have a talk about this? Er, whatever ‘this’ is?”

Julia gave a slight nod, but she kept the gun pointed at him. “If you’ll first promise me not to telephone the police, then yes. Happily. But I don’t want anyone else to find me.”

Jemmings had said things once, about Iveson and maybe even Julia; about him being a traitor and her being a spy. Ron hadn’t been sure what to think at first, but Iveson’s death had proved his guilt, and now here was Julia proving herself in the role of an enemy agent of some kind.

“I’m not promising anything to you, not while you’re threatening me,” he said. “I mean, if you wanted to kill me, you’d have done it already.”

Julia held the gun steady, her mouth tightening into a determined line as she faced him. “Oh, I wouldn’t count on that. I don’t _want_ to, and I’d do my best to not to kill you, but I will fire if I need to."

“Yes, but what do you want?” The situation was beginning to lose its unreality and catch up with him. Ron would have liked to sit down, but it didn’t seem wise to move too far. He merely put a hand out to the wall behind him.

“I want to have the conversation with you that you should have had with my husband, if you hadn’t been too damned stubborn to see him. Now, will you please listen?”

Ron looked across at her. He could probably take her without too much trouble, if he tried, but the gun going off in the process was a risk he couldn’t afford unless there was no other choice. And clearly she hadn’t come here to assassinate him, or she wouldn’t have started talking. That thought brought on a long overdue outburst of anger. It was a betrayal of the nation, what Iveson had done, but it had also been a betrayal of Ron, who’d looked up to him not so long ago. And, as for Julia –

“To someone holding me at gunpoint?” he said. “To a bloody _spy_? It’s all true, isn’t it? I wanted to think it wasn’t, but here you are! God, you and Iveson, up to your necks in treachery and intrigue! And me, like an idiot, insisting it couldn’t be like that when Tom tried to warn me. And I thought – I thought –” He lost what he wanted to say and leant back against the wall. “I never thought that the two of you – that it was all a sham. I suppose I’m a fool, but I thought you were for real.”

Julia shook her head. “Never mind that now! There isn’t time to explain everything. But regardless of what we did, I still have to speak to you. And, besides, if you mean what I think you do, then, yes, we were for real. But that isn’t the point –”

“Isn’t it? If it was all a show, all a deception, how can I believe anything you say? It’s damn well the whole point!”

Julia drew in her breath and said, “For heaven’s sake, Ron, Hallam intends to blow up the Houses of Parliament! Everything else other than that is moot until we’ve stopped him, and you’re the only one I can try.”

“My God,” said Ron, robbed of breath for a moment. “Are you _mad_?”

Julia lowered the gun. “Maybe, but not for suggesting that. You know that Hallam was blackmailing my husband, I take it? Why did he do that, instead of what any honest citizen would have done on discovering that the Foreign Secretary, or maybe just his wife, had been passing on information to a pressure group?”

“He wanted Harding out, that’s all,” said Ron, shoving his hands in his pockets. He felt bound to defend Tom, but what defence was there? Whatever Iveson had done, Tom had been guilty of blackmail. 

“That’s all?” She raised an eyebrow.

Ron rubbed his forehead. “All right, all right. I didn’t want anything to do with it. I’ve been trying to keep out of Tom’s way since. But that didn’t mean I was going to see Iveson when he asked, either. I didn’t know how to face him. Either he didn’t know what you were doing and the man was a fool, or he did, and he was a traitor. What was I supposed to say?”

“Look,” said Julia, “Hallam wants to be in power. You know that, don’t you?”

“Well, that is the aim of the ambitious politician, isn’t it? It doesn’t make him the new Guy Fawkes – quite the reverse!”

“No. But first he blackmails Edward into aiding him in disposing of various Cabinet members he perceives as a threat – Edward, would, of course, have followed in time, but he took matters into his own hands. But not even the position of Prime Minister can give him the power he needs to bring in the sort of reforms and controls he considers necessary to address the country’s predicament. And then there’s Jemmings – he just wants the power, doesn’t he?”

“I’ll grant you that much,” said Ron. “Perhaps.”

“The one certain way for Hallam to get what he wants is to make sure there’s a serious crisis, maybe severe enough to warrant military control – and Jemmings has considerable influence among the military, doesn’t he?”

“It’s still not plausible –”

“And I should think, regardless of how well it succeeds or fails in disposing of how many MPs, a bomb going off in the Commons would provide that crisis. Nothing else would be quite so easy to engineer. I imagine they must have some explosives placed elsewhere – and given Jemmings’s position in MI5, he has a lot of access.”

Ron fell silent.

“Listen,” said Julia, “I understand that you despise me. I despise myself, if you must know. But if you go to the House of Commons and set off the fire alarm, the worst that could happen would be a temporary disruption. If you _don’t_ , and I’m right, a lot of people will die and the government will fall.”

He couldn’t help it. He was beginning to believe her. “I can’t.”

“You could. You’re supposed to be there now. Go, set off the alarm, or if you can’t, just run into the building and yell at everyone to get out. Only do _something_!” Julia watched him as he hesitated. “That’s why Edward wanted to see you. He spent those last months preparing for something like this, as much as he could, but he couldn’t get to you – and you, close to Hallam as you are, you were who we needed.”

“But why didn’t you phone the police? Even as an anonymous tip off they’d have had to empty the buildings.”

Julia sat down. “Superintendent Sheldon was supposed to act on this, but he’s not around today. I hope that that is because they’ve sent him somewhere – but I expect that’s optimistic of me. So, I had to come to you. We have an officer from Five, but he’s still on his way back from Birmingham, and even if he could make it in time, Jemmings is getting suspicious of him. And if we do put a call through, it’ll only get picked up by Jemmings’s people. I don’t know how much time we have, but you must get the House cleared as soon as possible.”

Ron reached for his jacket. “I take your point, but this still seems too extreme for Tom.”

“Does it?” she said. “You know him better than I do. Does it really?”

No, it didn’t, Ron thought. Hell. What wouldn’t Tom Hallam do to achieve his aims? But such sweeping, wholesale, bloody murder? And then he thought: murder of a set of people Tom considers to be committing what might as well amount to criminal negligence in the running of the country. And he’d always known that Jemmings was a bounder. Julia and Iveson, on the other hand, weren’t necessarily much better – and he still felt a pang of loss for that particular illusion.

“If you won’t, then I’ll try,” said Julia, “but I don’t expect I’ll get very far.”

Ron put on his jacket. “All right, all right. I’ll do it.”

 

They hurried down the street, Julia slightly behind Ron, her hat carefully positioned to hide her face. Ron found himself infected by her haste, her intent seriousness about the business. He increased his pace, leaving her further behind, but even as he reached Parliament Square, the world seemed to be suddenly torn apart, the ground shaking as if the end times had come and thunder filling the air.

It must have only lasted for a moment, but it seemed to take forever; the awful moment of stillness that followed even longer, before suddenly the world was full of movement and sound – sirens, shouts, and people running. Ron pressed himself back against the wall and couldn’t think what to say or do. He didn’t know whether he truly had believed Julia or not, but she had been right. He didn’t dare let himself think further than that or ask which of his fellow MPs had survived. Smoke was rising over the buildings now – the Houses of Parliament, on fire again.

“Whittaker,” said Major Jemmings, suddenly. “My God, what an appalling business.”

Another thought struck Ron, then: had Tom and Jemmings meant _him_ to be in there, or would he have been waylaid and kept out? Or had Tom not cared one way or another? He’d never find out now – Tom would never admit it, if it was the truth. 

“Whittaker,” said Jemmings again. “I know you must be in shock, but you’ll be needed. Now, look, Tom’s around here somewhere – where _did_ he go? – he was running late because I’d cornered him over – well, that’s irrelevant. But he’s here, so he can – where the devil is he?”

And where, thought Ron, was Julia Iveson? 

 

He and Jemmings rounded the corner in search of Tom, and into a narrow alley between two buildings, only to find Julia and Tom together. Julia had the gun aimed at him.

“My God,” said Jemmings, pulling Whittaker back and holding still. “Is that Mrs Iveson?”

Ron stared ahead. “I think so.” Contrary to anything he would have believed when he’d got up that morning, he found himself willing her to press the trigger. With all hell breaking loose behind them and no idea how to prove anything she’d said, or stop Tom, a bullet to his brain would be a mercy for the nation – and justice for the dead.

Julia, however, suddenly sagged back against the wall and fell to the ground. Ron moved forward behind Jemmings, alarmed and baffled – he thought Tom must have done something to her, but when he reached them, he found Tom unusually shaken and silent, merely watching Jemmings drag Julia up and out of the way. She wasn’t visibly hurt, either, but she didn’t fight back, or even attempt to argue.

“Ron,” said Tom, moving forward to grip his arm, causing him to jump. “What an afternoon! Come on – we’ll both be needed.”

Ron nodded. He was also realising that the worst possible thing he could do now was to confront Tom, or let his suspicion show. As they turned and walked the short distance to the Houses of Parliament – to where they had been – he had to choke back nausea.

“They would have been in session,” said Tom. “How did they do it? Those United Europe people, perhaps, if that woman was involved?”

As if he didn’t know. Ron fought to remind himself that Julia hadn’t proved anything to him, but the explosion she’d predicted had happened and Tom had made sure he wasn’t inside. And ‘those United Europe people’ were a pacifist outfit who had nothing to gain from this. He must keep his head, however. He must watch out for the evidence, and wait to be sure. The moment Tom took control of the nation, he’d know there was no doubt.

And if it was true, then Julia should have shot him: Tom was too dangerous to live.

 

Ron found Jemmings much later and asked where he’d taken Julia. He told him that he’d like to see her, if he could and ask a few questions. “She knows me,” he said to Jemmings. “She’ll probably tell me things she won’t tell you. And I know why you’re suspicious, but even after the affair with the leaked document, I can’t see her having a hand in blowing up the bloody Houses of Parliament.”

Jemmings agreed to that and, after a long, uncertain period of waiting, Ron found himself facing Julia across a table in a secure room. She didn’t look up when he entered, or even when he sat down.

“Mrs Iveson,” he said, and then hesitated, knowing there was a good chance that Jemmings or someone who worked for him would be listening in. He hoped she knew that, too. “Look, why don’t you explain to me what happened? You didn’t mean to shoot Tom, did you?”

Julia lifted her head. “Why are you asking? I’m a traitor and I threatened to shoot a member of the Cabinet.”

“You didn’t,” said Ron. “Shoot him. Why?” he asked, and tried not to let it sound too heartfelt. 

She seemed then to make some effort to pull herself together, straightening in the chair and brushing hair out of her face. She gave a short laugh. “I meant to. You can tell him I know what he’s guilty of, even if no one else does! But then I thought – maybe if I did it, someone worse would step in. Or there’d just be chaos. How could that be my decision to make? And he blackmailed Edward and drove him to kill himself – but I kept thinking when I stood there that Edward wouldn’t want me to be a murderer. I think I agree.”

“You weren’t responsible for the bomb, then?” he said. “Do you know who was?”

She laughed again and put her head in her hands; alert enough not to give him away in surprise at his question, but beyond lying. She looked up eventually, and shook her head.

“I believe you,” said Ron. “And you _did_ care for him, didn’t you?” He felt his cheeks warm. “Iveson, I mean. It wasn’t all a lie. I mean, it’s none of my business, but I used to think Iveson was the luckiest devil I knew, being married to you – and then – all this –”

Julia wiped away tears. “That part was never a lie. Never.”

“I’ll have a word with the Major,” said Ron. “Although I don’t know if he’ll listen – and, of course, they can’t let you go, after what you have done. But hopefully, you can be turned over to the usual authorities.”

“I don’t matter any more.”

Ron didn’t know how to say what he wanted, because any of it would give him away. “Don’t be like that,” he muttered as he stood again. “I’ll help,” he said in an undertone, as he bent a little to push the chair back into place. “Any way I can – to stop him, I mean.”

Julia managed a small smile and a nod.

“You’re not hurt, are you?” he said, reverting to his normal voice, remembering how she’d fallen in the alley. “Do you need medical attention?”

Julia only laughed.

“It was a serious question. I thought – you seemed to be earlier.”

She lent her head on her hand as she looked up at him. “It all ended, you see.” He wasn’t even sure suddenly that she was really talking to him. “Everything – and then it seemed to catch up with me.”

“But do you need a doctor?” he said, mistrusting metaphor and wanting a straight answer.

Julia shook her head. “Oh, no. There’s nothing a doctor can do now. I took the fatal shot three months ago. I’ve just been walking around wounded till I couldn’t any longer.”

“You know that’s not true,” he said, more sharply than he’d intended. “Life goes on, Mrs Iveson.” He glanced around the bare cell of a room and coughed. “I mean – it does. Even here, now. Like this. Look, I’d better go, but, like I said, I shall do anything I can.”

Julia said, “Well, that is something, I suppose.”

Ron walked out, deeply uneasy, but he couldn’t stop someone who was determined to make a sacrifice of herself. He could only hope that she’d see things a bit differently once she’d recovered from the shock. What he had to do now was to go outside and face this new world that Hallam had made. 

And then he’d have to work out what the hell he was supposed to do try and stop him.


	72. The Ravens Are Circling (PG, 1961: Jack Brayfield/Afzal Syed)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pillars of government are falling…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1961; Jack Brayfield/Afzal Syed. (Again, I didn't write much of some characters before I stopped - Jack, Afzal & Jane and Sylvia Howe, who never even got this much, were all supposed to appear much more, Jack being a young journalist who knew Edward well & the rest were in Whittaker's and Hallam's circle.)
> 
> Prompts: Sea Salt #2 (river), Coffee #1 (coffee) + Malt – PFtH (Jack: the death come to find her); My Treat – Parliament on the Thames – and the depths will keep its secrets).
> 
> Notes/warnings: bombs, political collapse.

Jack wasn’t the only one standing around outside the ruined Houses of Parliament, but he felt, if perhaps unfairly, that the others were falling on the remains like eager birds of prey, whereas he could hardly even begin to take in what had happened. He left then – he had plenty of things to work into his story already – and walked away, across the bridge, pulling his long mac in against him. He headed down to the Embankment, getting a view of what was left from across the river. There was still a small column of black smoke rising from it, reflected again in the dull waters of the Thames.

“What the hell happened?” he said under his breath, but neither the river nor the felled Gothic building gave him any answer. They’d been told the official story, of course: Mr Hallam said it was the work of the government’s enemies, whether from within or without was all that was left to be determined. The nation should have no fear – the culprits would be found and punished, and in the meantime they would keep people safe. Jack felt that sounded more ominous than reassuring, but Mr Hallam was suddenly the only voice in the government being heard. 

It might be much worse than that, too. Jack had suspicions, but he didn’t know. He had so many arbitrary puzzle pieces to hand – odd pieces of information and tips, careless slips made during interviews, all the sorts of things available to a journalist with the right contacts – but nothing solid. He’d been used by both sides, if the situation was simple enough to be said to only have two sides. Lord Howe owned the paper he worked for, and he’d made it clear that he was in favour of Hallam and angry over the government’s inaction. Maybe that was genuinely what he believed; maybe it was due to his daughter Sylvia’s engagement to Thomas Hallam, or something more sinister. Then there was Mr Iveson, who had given Jack stories latterly that had disturbed and disappointed him – or he had before he’d died. Now, since, he’d heard even stranger things from Mrs Iveson, and more again from Mrs Foyle, and Lord Howe’s other daughter, Jane, who was never in line with the rest of her family. But what to do with it all and who to believe, that was the thing. Jack only wished that he didn’t know any of it.

“Penny for them.”

Jack had been so absorbed in his thoughts that he hadn’t heard Afzal approach and he gave a start at his words.

“Well, now, there’s a guilty reaction. Maybe I shouldn’t ask. Or at least pay more: pound for them?”

Jack turned away from the river with a small grimace. “No, damn it, they’re not even worth a ha’penny. All I know is that I don’t know anything, but I still don’t like it.”

“Who likes this kind of thing?” said Afzal. “The obvious exception aside, I suppose.” He put a hand to Jack’s shoulder. “If you’ve finished for now, then leave it here. Come with me. I’ll buy you coffee, whatever you want. Let’s get in out of this bloody wind.”

Jack had to smile, if unwillingly. “Thanks. It’s only –” He stopped and gestured across at the former Houses of Parliament again. “Well, you see.”

“Yes,” said Afzal, more seriously. “State of Emergency now, isn’t it? Martial Law next, I should think. All for our own good.”

Exactly, thought Jack, and Afzal and Jane would be diving in head first into protesting against the arrangements. They were already involved in something, even Jack couldn’t avoid knowing that much. And once everything went that far, it was going to get serious. If he looked across the river again, he knew it already was. Then there was Mrs Iveson. She’d asked to meet him yesterday over there and she’d never come. She hadn’t been caught in the incident, because he’d taken down the names and details of the dozen-odd dead and wounded, and there’d been no sign of her. The most he got out of anyone was Ronald Whittaker, a junior cabinet minister, pinning him down later and telling him it was best not to ask.

First one down – if she was the first – and who would it be next? Afzal would stick his neck out for his principles, the way he always did, and that could never end well. Jane, too, would be up in arms. The more Jack thought about it, the more too many of the people he knew well were lining up on one side or the other, and he was stuck uncomfortably in the middle, hating all of it, but too unsure to move to any more certain position. 

“Staring at the place won’t put Big Ben back together again, you know,” said Afzal.

Jack grimaced, his attention brought back to that glaring fact. “Awful, isn’t it? It came through the war – and now this.”

“Coffee,” said Afzal. He glanced at Jack again. “Or something stronger, maybe? Whatever the hell it is you need.”

Jack turned away from the unwelcome sight, taking a firm hold of himself with a mental shake. “Right. Coffee it is. Sorry.”

“You know there are people willing to do something about it –” Afzal began.

Jack cut him off with more violence than he had intended. “No! We’ll get through this, but not like that. Don’t you see? There could even be civil war; it’s not impossible.”

“Keep your voice down,” said Afzal. “Jack.”

He closed his eyes. It wasn’t that he didn’t have principles, he thought. It wasn’t that he didn’t care that it wasn’t only the buildings that had fallen – today they’d suspended _Habeas Corpus_ like a nightmare revisiting of old history lessons. But when it came to fighting back, he couldn’t help thinking of who was going to get hurt. Besides, who could be so absolutely bloody certain they were right that they’d literally fight for it? And he knew the answer to that one: Afzal, for a start. Maybe sometimes he didn’t have as much choice in the matter, but he also chose to jump right in to any issue going. God, he hated the idea of losing him. Jack would rather just keep his head down and keep what he had and think the cost was worth it.

“All right, I’m sorry,” he said. “I suppose it doesn’t seem quite real. I was standing over there taking notes on the Fall of the Government, as if it’s any other news story. I suppose that _is_ all it is, but it shouldn’t be.”

Afzal shrugged. “I know, but can we argue about it somewhere inside where it’s not bloody freezing?”

“Mrs Iveson wanted to meet me,” Jack said, having to say it to someone. “On the Embankment, outside the Houses of Parliament. She never turned up, but she wasn’t inside – she wasn’t hurt. I know it sounds ridiculous, but I think she might be dead. She wanted to say something about Mr Hallam. I wasn’t keen – and then all this happened.”

Afzal stopped jogging about from one foot to the other to keep warm and looked out across the river himself. “Oh,” he said. “Actually, I’m not sure it does sound ridiculous.”

“And you could be dead next if you’re going to start playing games like that.” Jack couldn’t help the way he sounded slightly petulant when he said it; it came out that way. “Just – don’t.”

“They’re not games.”

Jack sighed and started to walk away, Afzal beside him. “Just don’t do anything stupid. You can manage that, can’t you?”

“Nothing stupid, I promise,” said Afzal, quickening his pace, evidently still keen to be out of the inclement weather. Jack wasn’t particularly reassured: he knew too well by now that they had different ideas about the meaning of the word.

Jack looked at him again. “If this is about Tom Hallam, you know that Alan Jemmings is in it, too, don’t you? And he knows us. He went out with Jane. He’ll be watching for you to do something and you know what a bastard he is.”

“Coffee, my dear fellow,” said Afzal. “Or probably something more calculated to calm the nerves – and then you can get your story down and stop having a fit about things that haven’t happened yet. Never will happen, either.”

Jack gave a slight smile. “Yes, but what will you be writing?”

“I’m not a journalist,” Afzal said. “I can tell the truth.”

“Yes,” said Jack, with a wry twist to his mouth, “that was what I thought.”


	73. Splinters (T, 1961: Julia Graves)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julia is left here alone after all the games have been played out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1961; Julia Graves(/Edward Iveson).
> 
> Prompts: Chocolate #19 (solitude), Papaya #27 (wrapped around my finger), Sangria #25 (I don’t need my freedom when I’m dead) + Malt – Birthday prompt ("I broke my bones playing games with you." from roisin_farrell) + Gummy Bunnies (for Hurt/Comfort Bingo square “broken bones”).
> 
> Warnings for death, suicide, imprisonment, hallucinations, abandonment, angst.

She’s locked away, alone. It’s better that way, she knows. The alternative is not freedom; the alternative is to destroy what fragments remain of everything they built together, she and Edward. That’s the price of a trial, a lawful prison, maybe a swift end, any sort of return to Emily: let the world know what fools and traitors they were. Better to stay in here; better for Emily to have questions than those answers.

How could she explain that it was never like that; that it was always a love story wrapped inside a game? They would never understand; they would be right to point out the truth. The reasons for betrayal and treachery and war don’t matter in the end. It doesn’t make it better for everyone else that they never meant it to work out this way.

*

So, she’s here, after all the games have ended; here alone. Her world is limited to this pair of tiny rooms – occasional walks down the corridor – it’s bounded in and shrunk to nothing. Shut away, isolated like this, she’ll go mad, she knows. 

They’ve locked her in, not alone after all; they’ve locked her in with the grief she’s kept one step ahead of till now – so much to do, the world to save. There was no time to dwell on anything else. And now the world is lost, and she has nothing but time. She’d been stopped, waiting for the fall, and now it comes; she’s crushed to pieces on the rocks and breakers. 

She has all the time in the world to close her eyes and see again –

(but no, not that)

She sees again –

She holds the gun, but she doesn’t pull the trigger.

( _That was still the right thing_ , he says, when she closes her eyes and pictures him there. _It couldn’t have made much difference, not then. It might have been worse._ )

They take her away, and all she can think is that now she can’t go back to Emily. The real world has solid cells, and no daring escapes. She pushes that thought away. She may think of the rest; she may call up ghosts and try and twist her madness to her whims, but not that: Emily is alive, and she won’t bring her into this, not even only in her mind. She’s committed enough crimes, but not yet that.

*

 _I killed you_ , she says, quite calmly. It’s not morbid guilt; it’s the truth, just as true as to say he killed himself. The fault belongs to them both, but she knows to the minute the point at which she could have spared them both this fate.

She says it out loud, before she loses the power of speech: “I killed you.” She couldn’t take that gun and kill Hallam, but she could take a piece of paper and kill Edward.

She’d been angry over what they wanted to do; they both had. Too many bombs had fallen already, too many people had died, no need to add more to their number. But the brave thing to do would have been to bring that out into the light and take the consequences. The prudent thing to do would have been to never even to try. 

Julia shuts her eyes again, lying on the bunk. She clenches her fists and hopes that maybe she’s bleeding to death from an old, unseen wound.

 _You might as well say that I killed you._ He’s perched on the edge of the bed now, she’s sure he is. She can almost feel the lightest touch of his fingers on her hair.

It’s true, of course. It’s always been true, but, she thinks, not the way she did it that day. She remembers: fearing someone might be listening, watching even, in this grand old house, this borrowed splendour, so she kisses him, tells him under her breath what she has in mind. She finally makes the move that was supposed to be hers at the start.

*

At the start, it’s simple: she hates her life and plays the game to see where it will take her. It’s far more mercenary than she ever likes to admit to him.

No, no – at the start, it’s simple: she sees him, the way she never did in Berlin, blinded by grief. She can remember his hand on her shoulder; she remembers the kindness in his eyes. She doesn’t know why he’s playing with her now, when he knows what she’s supposed to be doing, but she matches him move for move.

It’s a game she begins to think she can win; she can have him defeated and at her mercy; she can have him.

Of course, it’s not like that. It’s a game they both lose, will always lose, gladly, helplessly, forever.

She lets out a painful breath at the thought and says into the dark that maybe isn’t really night, _I love you. Don’t think that I didn’t._

She can almost feel him grip her hand – he’s kneeling by the bunk, he must be – and give the ghost of a kiss to the back of her hand. _Are you sure, Julia?_

“You win,” she says. His last move was unfair; that’s how he wins. All his moves were always unfair, none more so than that. She plays games that are straight-forward and well-known; his are something arcane and unheard of and she doesn’t know the rules, but it never mattered much till now.

The sound of her voice only betrays the silence in the room. 

*

How unfair he is – it’s like this –

She thinks, before she meets him, that love is an illusion; the end result always disillusionment. He offers her only the charade of a marriage and then teaches her how to love, drawing her in with the lightest of touches. He never shows her how to stop.

She wonders: does Edward even know that anyway? She doesn’t think he does, not truly.

When she closes her eyes, he sits on the bed, leaning over her, putting a hand to her cheek. She doesn’t need to look to see the wry amusement in his face. 

_Don’t be ridiculous, Julia_ , he says.

She shakes her head; keeps her eyes closed, holding her breath, hanging onto the illusion. _No, no, you don’t understand. You never did._

*

She knows, of course, has always known, this is how it goes: when you love someone, you lose them, they go away. She accepted what the cost would be long ago, how can she complain now the time has come to settle the account?

 _Do you come with a curse?_ Edward asked once, long ago. And: _yes, yes_ , she thinks. _Don’t we all?_

 _True_ , he says in return. 

She’s not sorry, though. She won’t ever be sorry for it.

*

She thinks sometimes that she isn’t a very _good_ person, not as moral as she should be. Edward, she believes, _is_ , ironic as that seems after what he’s done. The difference is that she can live with her crimes while he can’t.

She remembers –

_She walks into the study at Donningford as he puts down the telephone. The event is over and she played her role as perfectly as ever. Now, she wants her reward. She wants, sometimes at least, to be of greater than national importance to the Foreign Secretary._

_“Another crisis?” she asks as she reaches him._

_He shakes his head, though he’s already turning slightly aside to jot down some notes._

_“Then let it wait,” she says. “Everyone else has gone.” (Everyone who counts, she means, not the remaining staff and the man who’s in charge of security this time). “It’s just us.” She doesn’t move any nearer; she doesn’t touch him. She waits with a smile, and wins him over with nothing more._

*

She feels his arms around her in the darkness, as they’re lying on the bunk. She can’t turn to see him, though. She can’t think why. It doesn’t matter; she knows he’s here and it’s all right.

 _Julia_ , he says in her ear, _Julia_ –

The bunk is too narrow for both of them, she thinks in sudden panic that she can’t explain. He’s holding her too tightly; she can’t breathe –

She wakes, opening her eyes to more darkness before she falls back into more drowsy confusion, a whole host of other people coming between them by turn.

When she wakes again, her head is clearer. Only feverish dreams, she realises, the thin, unfriendly bedclothes pinned too closely about her, damp from sweating out a temperature. She’s still very much herself, shaken but less confused. She’s a long way from madness yet, and Edward – Edward is not here.

For the first time in ages, she cries into the pillow and the truth comes with her tears.

*

She can’t hide from it now: she sees again –

Edward is dead, head down on his desk in the study. She doesn’t need to look closer; she doesn’t need to touch him: he’s so utterly still in a way he never was in life. There is no light left in him.

She burrows her head into the lumpy pillow again, trying to block out the memory, but there is no way she can.

Edward is dead and she has received her mortal wound; all her bones are broken. It’s only a matter of time before she follows him.

(One can recover, of course; she hears it can be done – but not like this, not locked away alone. You can’t move forward when you can’t move, can barely even breathe.)

The pain of it isn’t like a dagger to the heart; that would be quick and clean. It’s like a pointed piece of glass that breaks and splinters; she’s bleeding everywhere – one deep wound, but endless cuts and shards that work their way into her heart and mind.

She closes her eyes and tries to ignore it, tries to go back. _Ned_ , she says, but there’s nothing again. She is herself, still, only now she’s faced the truth and laid the ghost and she can’t bring him back.

It’s not the way she breaks inside that hurts the most; it’s the way she can’t quite shatter fully after all. He’s gone, and she’s still here.

*

She opens her eyes and sits up. She’s in a small room. It’s not really a cell. She’s not sure what it must have been before and doesn’t really care. There’s a narrow bed, two bunks, not much else, other than a tiny washroom that’s not much more than a cupboard. 

They don’t really want her here. They’ll kill her quietly, one way or another. Her health will decline in here, or they’re waiting till they’re sure she’s forgotten to kill her in silence. Maybe they will forget her, or be killed in the fighting and she’ll starve to death. Maybe she’ll just fade away; maybe it can happen like that. 

It won’t take forever. All she has to do is wait.


	74. Small Comfort (PG, 1963: Julia Graves, Caroline Sheldon)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julia wishes help had come from any other quarter but this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1963; Julia Graves, Caroline Sheldon.
> 
> Prompts: Peach 20 (the least I can do); Sangria 22 (time will rust the sharpest sword); White Chocolate 20 (arrogance)
> 
> Notes/warnings: angst, imprisonment, hallucinations.

It was very unfair, Julia decided. Of all the people she could have hallucinated, why must it be Caroline?

“Julia,” Caroline was saying. “ _Julia_.” She was a persistent hallucination, it had to be said.

Julia buried herself further into her bunk, trying to ignore her. If she must imagine people into her cell with her, then she wanted it to be Edward, as it had in her first feverish days or weeks in here.

“Julia, I am sorry, but –” Caroline reached out and gave her a small shake, and then again, less gently – not very Caroline-like.

Julia raised her head slowly and looked at Caroline, beginning to register that, perhaps, it was not an hallucination and that, truth being stranger than fiction, Caroline was truly here. She tried to speak, but she was out of practice and too puzzled by the visit to articulate her questions.

“Oh, thank goodness,” said Caroline at finally getting a reaction. “Poor Julia. I am sorry. I can’t stay long, but I’ve brought you some things. I spoke to some of Jack’s people – one of them got me in.” She leant forward, lowering her voice. “I will try to get you out by the same means, although that may be asking too much. But don’t give up hope.”

Julia only shook her head. That kind of talk was impossible to take in. She had given up all idea of anything other than wasting away here. It was better that way.

“Yes,” said Caroline, surveying her closely. “Oh, dear. Well, do look at what I’ve brought you.” She had a large shopping basket with her, out of which she pulled a blanket, some clothes, soap, toothpaste, and a flask with some soup inside it. “I’ll come back as soon as I can with more. I realise this isn’t a great deal, but I didn’t want to push my luck. Promise me you’ll use them all. Julia,” she said, more sharply, causing Julia to blink and look at her again. “Promise me.”

Julia turned away again, putting a hand to her head. She had been locked away in here for too long, without much in the way of human company or anything other than her dull routine and ongoing grief to cling to. She simply couldn’t seem to focus on Caroline. It all felt like too much effort. And why must Caroline be here? Julia had never liked Caroline. She might even have despised her, and that made it all the more unreal. But, she made herself admit, Caroline always had been nice, after all. It was the most annoying thing about her.

“Why?” said Julia, finally getting at least one word out. She blinked again, beginning to shake, and grow close to tears. It was cold, she thought. She hadn’t taken much notice of it till now.

Caroline put the blanket around Julia’s shoulders. “If you could see yourself, you wouldn’t ask. It’s an errand of mercy, that’s all. I’m not involved in the fighting, but I thought I could do this. Besides, I’ve always felt that I owed Edward for what happened. It’s a little late, of course, but perhaps I can finally repay him.”

Julia had to nod, not able to speak again. She was moved, but it also woke some of her old possessiveness. She hugged the blanket in against herself, reminding herself that Jack Sheldon had also been killed before her arrest. And even if she had always liked to believe she was better than Caroline, that wasn’t really true. That had been the very worst thing about Edward: he had such insultingly good taste in these matters. Julia could dislike Caroline, but she knew deep down it was unfair, and she hadn’t even been able to manage even that towards Marie. She shook herself and tried to make an effort.

“I’m very sorry,” she said. “About Jack, I mean.”

Caroline merely nodded. “Thank you. But let’s not talk about that. Please, you must have some of this soup. I shall sit here until you do.”

Julia took a cautious sip: it was an unidentified vegetable soup of some kind, but warming and good. She tried to laugh and found that brought her perilously near tears again. “That isn’t as much of a threat these days.”

“Good,” said Caroline. “Because I will come to visit you again. As I said, if it can be arranged – I might even be able to get you out. Things are in such disarray with all the fighting. No one is fully in charge of the country, and you’re certainly not anyone’s priority now. And there are still a few of Jack’s colleagues in the police I can count on. But, there, I mustn’t give you false hope.”

Julia wasn’t sure if she was feeling better, or if she was merely remembering how conversations worked. “Don’t worry. The soup is more than enough.” 

She continued to drink it while Caroline looked around the cell, wrinkling her brow in distaste at what she saw.

“I’m not sure if I should say thank you or sorry,” Julia said. The soup must be helping, she realised. She might almost have sounded normal. “You must have noticed that I didn’t precisely _like_ you, no matter how polite we were.”

Caroline turned, and was surprised into a laugh. “I thought as much,” she said, “but that doesn’t mean that I didn’t like you, dear. After all, I don’t think I’m especially vain, but there was only one reason for you to dislike me, and I was glad for that. I may not have been in love with Edward, but I always liked him. That was the trouble – if I had hated him, I would never have married him and caused all that fuss.”

“It would have been better if _I_ hadn’t,” said Julia. “He might still be here – we might not be in this mess!”

Caroline crossed back to the bunk, taking Julia’s hand. “Julia, dear, you know that’s not what happened. Besides, I doubt Edward could have averted this crisis. I think it’s all a little beyond any one person.”

“Yes, yes,” said Julia, remembering convention and conversation and other people again and didn’t say that it _was_ what had happened, or that she was past hope and only serving a well-deserved sentence. “Of course it isn’t. I get morbid alone in here, that’s all – I expect the soup will help.”

When Caroline had gone, Julia discovered, somewhat painfully, that she had brought hope regardless. Julia couldn’t help it still; she found herself thinking: _if she comes again, perhaps…_ and then of getting out, and feeling the sun on her face, at least for a moment. _Perhaps._


	75. Epilogue - Tea and Sympathy (T, 1973/1927/1938/1952/1960: Nancy Long/Isabel Andrews, Edward Iveson, Emily Iveson, Caroline Sheldon))

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nancy was always close to her cousin Edward; it makes the betrayal all the harder to bear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oct 1973/Aug 1927/Oct 1938/May 1952/1960; Nancy Long/Isabel Andrews, Liz Cardew, Edward Iveson, Amy Long, Caroline Sheldon.
> 
> Prompts: Chocolate #12 (understanding), Papaya #26 (when you least expect it) + Brownie + Rainbow Sprinkles + Gummy Bunnies (“comfort food or item/feeding someone” square for Hurt/Comfort Bingo)
> 
> Warnings for references to childbirth & death/suicide/grief, plus some mid-twentieth century attitudes.

_October 1973_

The young woman at the door was a stranger, yet she seemed oddly familiar. Nancy remained cautious nevertheless, waiting for her visitor to speak first. Times had changed too much not to be careful when people came calling.

“Miss Long?” the girl said, twisting the end of her scarf with her fingers as she spoke. “It is, isn’t it? I hope you don’t mind me turning up like this, but you see, my father was your cousin, and I’ve been trying to –”

Nancy cut her off, letting go of the door and almost dragging her in, making her stand in the light so that she could take a good look at her. “Emily,” she said, because now that she’d said, the truth was obvious. If nothing else, she had a striking resemblance to her Aunt Elizabeth, more so than to either of her parents. “Good heavens. _Emily_. My dear girl, I’m so sorry – I should have known it was you at once!”

Emily gave an awkward smile. “I wouldn’t expect you to remember. It’s been so long – I must have been nine the last time you saw me.”

“Well, yes,” said Nancy, but patted the girl’s cheek with a short laugh. “That’s true, but now that you’ve said – I can see it’s you all grown up.”

Emily followed her down the hallway, explaining that she was usually called Liz these days, using her middle name – Elizabeth, after her grandmother, which was peculiarly apt, Nancy thought, given the likeness.

“Isabel,” said Nancy, leading her long lost relative into the sitting room. “Isabel, you’ll never guess who this is – Emily, Edward’s daughter.”

Isabel jumped up, sending papers flying from the sofa and the coffee table. “Oh!” she said, and turned to shake Liz’s hand, giving her a long look, much as Nancy had done, and seeing the truth in her appearance. “Well, we’re very glad to see you again! We’ve met before, but I don’t suppose you remember me.”

“I do,” said Liz. “I think so anyway. I – I wish I’d come before, but it wasn’t really possible.”

Nancy caught at her hands and made her sit down. “But, Emily – Liz, sorry – what happened to you? And your mother? Is your mother still alive?”

“Nancy,” said Isabel with slight reproach, and asked Liz if she would like some tea – herbal tea and maybe some very plain biscuits, before disappearing out to the kitchen to fetch them.

Liz looked back at Nancy, and closed her eyes, her shoulders sagging. “Oh. Aunt Nancy, I’d hoped _you_ would know.”

“Well,” said Nancy, doing her best to hide her own disappointment at that response, “why don’t you tell me where you’ve been all this time?”

Liz leant back into the chair. “After Father died, Mother took me to my new family – the Cardews. Mother said that she would come back as soon as she could – but she never did. I didn’t know why any of it had happened, but I was always given to understand that something terrible might happen if people knew who they were. I had to call myself Elizabeth Cardew and keep my real name a secret. I know – I know what Father did, but I don’t know why. Please, surely, you must have heard something?”

“If anything you know more than I do,” she told her. “I don’t know why your father did what he did, either.” She avoided Isabel’s gaze as she brought in a tray with the tea things. It was always going to be a sore subject with Nancy, who’d grown up with Edward, and Isabel knew it. “I never saw your mother again after the funeral. I’ve always been led to believe that it had something to do with what happened next – the fall of the government, Mr Hallam coming into power – but I don’t know anything for certain.” 

Liz nodded. “I thought the same, but everything was so long ago and I was too young to understand much of it. I don’t suppose anyone else in the family might know more?”

“They would have told me,” said Nancy. “Your Aunt Amy went to Canada years before it all happened, and if anyone had written, she would never keep that from me. But I’ll give you her address if you like – she would love to hear from you.” She got up and hunted around for the address book, but then turned. “Oh, why didn’t Julia bring you to me?”

She stopped, again trying not to look at Isabel. There was an obvious answer to that question, but she would prefer not to think that of Julia, either.

“I only know what I was told,” said Liz. “Mother seemed to think I wouldn’t be safe if people knew who I was, so she had to send me somewhere else. That’s what she said, and I think it must have been true – or she believed it was.”

Nancy nodded, forcing herself to smile. “I’m sorry. It’s been so long, and I really did think you were dead, too. So, now we must just be glad that you’re not. And, while I understand if you still want to be careful, I think maybe you could risk dropping by every now and then, don’t you?”

~o~

_August 1927_

There was a hill, about four or five miles away from their house that was known in the family as Avalon. Nancy had once asked Aunt Daisy why and she’d told her that it was because of the way it stood noticeably alone in the landscape and they could see it from the garden, so it had become that in their games. Her father, when she’d asked him, had said it was because of the way it often had a sea of mist around it, and Avalon was supposed to be an island. Nancy had concluded that nobody really knew and wished she could have asked Aunt Elizabeth for her version, but they hardly ever saw Aunt Elizabeth these days. Whatever the truth, it was a favourite day trip for Nancy and Edward, too.

“Come on,” said Edward, lying on the grass next to her. “Mother told me it’s an unbreakable family rule to tell the truth on Avalon. And you can’t really like that awful girl.”

Nancy thought about that and decided that Ned had probably made that part up, the same way his innocent suggestion of a walk up here had been a chance to lecture her about Diana. “Yes, I do,” she said. “Stop being mean.”

“I’m not being mean, and she _is_ awful,” said Edward. He’d been lying on his back, his hands behind his head, and now he rolled over to look at her. 

Nancy stared resolutely up at the clouds, putting her hands over her ears.

Edward poked her. “Don’t ignore me. I’m trying to tell you – I couldn’t say to Aunt Anne, but Amy was right about Diana being unkind to her. All because Amy’s got sense.”

“Oh, shut up, Ned,” she said, sitting up, and drawing her knees in against herself. “I don’t complain if you have friends to stay, do I? Anyway, what do you mean?”

Edward lay back down again, pulling a face. “Look, I couldn’t say because it was just something I overhead. Uncle Ted let me work in the study and I was busy with that and I only realised Diana was talking outside the window too late. And I’m not sure exactly what she did say to Amy, but the tone was pretty rotten, I can tell you.”

“So, for all you know, Amy might have done anything to annoy her.”

Edward looked over at her. “Diana’s fifteen. Amy’s only ten.”

It was unreasonable of him to drag her all the way up here to tell her all the sorts of things she’d already been thinking deep down, so she merely shrugged, hunching her shoulders.

“You usually like much better people,” he said. “What’s wrong with Milly Cotton suddenly?”

Nancy shifted away from him and lay back down, this time on her front, resting her weight on her elbows, and tugging out blades of grass and twisting them round her fingers. “Yes, well, had you forgotten that Mrs Cotton doesn’t like us very much at the moment?”

Milly Cotton, she thought, was much nicer indeed. Much, _much_ nicer. She sighed, because it was true about them not being allowed to see the Cottons after that business with the pond, which all the grown-ups had decided was obviously Edward and Nancy’s fault. Really, that was only true insofar that it was their idea; everybody else had joined in happily enough, and it wasn’t fair. Besides, there were things Nancy couldn’t explain even to Edward, like the way there was a world of difference between sometimes getting to kiss Milly Cotton when they were playing at being a prince and princess or whatever it might be, and Diana who was older and more sophisticated and knew things. Nancy felt the warmth fire up in her face and made sure she turned her head away from Edward.

“I think we could do something about that,” said Edward, and then sat up. “But I’m not trying to be mean, Nan, honestly. Maybe it isn’t the same, but it just – well, there are chaps like her at school – have the younger boys soft over them, and keep them running errands and choosing favourites – it’s not a nice game. I wouldn’t have thought you’d let someone do that to you. That’s all. If you really like her, though –”

She screwed up her face, trying not to laugh and not to cry, and then she pulled herself up and threw the loose grass at him, most of it blowing back against her. Sometimes Edward was very unfair. “It’s not exactly like that, I promise,” she said. “And maybe she is a bit awful sometimes, but – well, she’s here till Wednesday, so you’ll just have to lump it!”

Edward grinned suddenly. “Oh, but I told you. I think we can get the Cottons back, and Charlotte Cotton might take Diana off our hands for a day at least. What do you say?”

“She _was_ mean to Amy?”

Edward nodded. “I don’t think that was the only time, either, and I don’t see –”

“Shh!” said Nancy, suddenly sitting upright, having heard something.

“Nan?”

“Shut up,” Nancy said, still trying to listen. Impossible as it seemed, she was sure she’d heard Amy crying. It must have been someone else, she knew, but she couldn’t shake that conviction. She got to her feet and hurried back down the hillside, going too fast along the steep path to have stopped if she needed to. She turned her head to see if Edward was following and he was, at a more cautious pace and with both the knapsacks.

She saw Amy then, sitting on a tuft of grass near the bottom, not crying now, but sniffing and hugging a grazed knee and generally looking pitiful.

“Amy,” said Nancy, reaching her and plumping herself down beside her. “What are you doing here? You’re going to get us all into trouble!”

Amy sniffed again. “I didn’t mean to, I really didn’t. It just happened.”

“How could you possibly walk all the way here without meaning to?” Nancy demanded, torn between annoyance and sympathy for her sister, as Edward arrived beside them.

Amy raised her head, suddenly stubborn. “That girl smacked me. So I came after you two, but I was too slow to catch up – and I didn’t know you were going to Avalon! You didn’t say.”

“I’m sure we did,” said Nancy. “You should pay attention.” Then she put her arm around Amy and hugged her. “There now, baby. We’ll sort everything out, promise.” She looked up at Edward. “Hanky,” she instructed him. “And water.”

Edward obliged with a relatively clean hanky. “I’m afraid we’ve only got lemonade.”

“Oh, well,” said Nancy, tying the hanky round Amy’s knee. It probably didn’t really need it, but it ought to make Amy feel better. “Then I won’t bathe her knee in that, but let her have some. There was a bun left, too, wasn’t there?”

Edward was already passing Amy the bottle, and once he had, fished out the slightly squashed bun. Nancy looked up at him then. “Ned,” she said. “How do we get her back? She’s already done in.”

“I think there’s a bus?” said Edward, looking at his watch. “We might not be too late and I’ve got some money.”

They made their way directly across the fields, towards the main road, heedless of whether or not they should be there, Edward giving Amy a piggy back and Nancy trying to support her as much as she could to take some of the weight. Every so often, they stopped and put Amy down, half-dragging her between them as she complained at the manhandling.

They reached the road, but there was no sign of a bus. Edward checked his watch again, and pulled a face at Nancy. She wasn’t even sure the bus came this way in the first place, but she decided there was no point in starting what would inevitably turn into an argument by raising the question.

“Oh, no,” said Nancy. “Perhaps we should go to the village and find somebody to ask for help?” She cast another glance at Amy, who had sat down on the verge, her eyebrows set in a stubborn line. The village wasn’t that near, not from where they were now.

Edward looked about them. “Well, how about we carry along the road for a while? Maybe we’ll see someone – and if not, it’s not much further to the next place, and at least we’ll be nearer home then.” 

Nancy nodded, and then they exchanged another glance, and hauled up the protesting Amy between them.

“You followed us,” said Nancy. “If Diana wasn’t nice to you, then I’m very sorry, but you should have gone to Mother or kept out of her way until we got back. You didn’t have to run after us. You knew we’d taken a picnic even if you didn’t know where we were going. So, come on: no fuss now, baby.”

They’d walked for another five minutes, before Mr Fielding from Three Acres Farm came along with the haycart, and seeing them, stopped, wanting to know if they needed a ride home.

“We,” said Nancy, sitting in the cart with her arm around Amy, “are going to be in so much trouble.”

Edward nodded. 

“Which is so unfair,” said Nancy. “Again. That plan of yours about the Cottons had better be a good one.”

“I didn’t say it was a plan,” he said. “Just that I knew how to get them back. What about Diana?”

Nancy waved her free hand. “Oh, I can see to her,” she said, airily, although she hadn’t quite decided what the solution would be. She would think of something. Slapping Amy was the outside of enough, even if her little sister could be annoying. And, she thought, rewards for errands really was a bit much when she was almost a fourth-former now, and that _was_ all it was when you came down to it – not the sort of thing that people did if they really cared about you. It was infuriating, but sometimes Edward was right.

“Well,” said Edward, with some hesitation, “I think if we bought some flowers and took them round to Mrs Cotton and apologised again –”

“That’s not a plan!”

“I did say it wasn’t.”

“And it was the Cottons every bit as much as us – _and_ Bobby Smith –”

Edward raised his eyebrows at her. “Do you want them to let us see each other or not?”

“Yes,” said Nancy. “But it wasn’t our fault, not really. I don’t see why we should spend our pocket money – we have much better flowers in our garden than down at the shop and Mother _can’t_ complain if we’re using them for a sensible purpose like that. It’ll mean more if it’s our flowers, won’t it?”

 

It turned out later that Mother could and did complain about them taking flowers from the garden without telling her, following on from the scolding they’d got for taking Amy with them, leaving Diana behind, and for the ride home (that one was apparently making an exhibition of themselves). Still, Mother didn’t ban them from seeing the Cottons since Mrs Cotton had been won over by the apology. “But,” she said, “next time _ask_ and don’t use the prize chrysanthemums!”

“So, all in all,” said Nancy later, “it worked.” She would, in her heart of hearts, have preferred an elaborate plan that involved, say, climbing up to Milly and Sarah’s window and helping them to escape, but she was getting older and knew that wouldn’t really have helped their cause. And asking Charlotte Cotton nicely if she would be so kind as to take Diana into town with her tomorrow would be a more realistic solution than locking Diana in the shed at the bottom of the garden, but it was a shame, Nancy thought. Growing up did have its drawbacks, after all.

~o~

_October 1938_

Marjorie had gone. Nancy sat down on the small sofa in the cottage and wondered what to do now. She’d known something was wrong, but she’d hoped that they could work something out, especially with a day or two away together. However, she’d said something unwise that sparked off not only another argument but had precipitated Marjorie’s confession that it was already over and she was moving elsewhere, and that this visit had been merely an act of farewell. Nancy had lost her temper then, rebelling at the idea of having one last time together as some sort of pitying pat on the head before the end, and told her that she’d really rather not; that she should just go.

Except, Nancy thought, now they’d parted more sharply than either of them had intended and she was left alone here, she didn’t know what to do with herself. She’d raged for the first half-hour or so, and spent the rest in tears. She’d then contemplated doing something drastic – smashing something to relieve her feelings or sitting down and getting drunk, but in the end she’d got up and made herself a cup of tea.

She looked at her mug and sighed, thinking what a terrible curse it was to be sensible. Even in the middle of her own personal world ending, she thought about having to clear up later and awkward explanations and the fact that she would still have to go back to work on Monday. So, why not have a nice cup of tea instead?

She glared at the tea and held back from drinking it. _So there_ , she thought, and tried not to laugh at herself, because she knew she would only cry again and, really, she had done enough of that. It wouldn’t mend any of the last few months and it certainly wouldn’t bring Marjorie back.

Even as she thought that, there was a knock at the door, and she jumped violently, and then leapt up to answer it, almost falling over the end of the sofa in her haste. It could only be Marjorie – but what did she want? Oh, thought Nancy, under no illusions of a happy ending, really, it was no good dragging things out. If they were over, they were over. She mentally prepared herself, and then opened the door only to find Edward outside.

Nancy stared at him, trying to explain his presence there and failing.

“Nancy,” said Edward eventually, “it is raining out here, you know. Can I come in?”

She stood back and let him in, shutting the door after him, still at such a loss that she wondered for half a second if she was hallucinating in her distress. But then, if she was going to imagine things, she didn’t think any of them would be Edward. “Ned, what _are_ you doing here?”

“Well,” said Edward, removing his coat and hanging it on the hook, and then halting awkwardly. “Er, yes. I came to see you.”

Nancy leant back against the wall, giving a slight laugh in her bafflement. “But how could you even have known I was here, and why would you –?” She closed her eyes, working out the only possible explanation even as she said it. “Oh. Marjorie telephoned you?”

He nodded. “She said – well, she said what had happened, but the point is, she realised she had driven off in the car and left you stranded.”

“Oh,” said Nancy, who had not got as far as registering that fact yet. “Well, honestly. Stranded is hardly the word. It’s not so far to the train station that I couldn’t walk, and there must be a bus to – well – somewhere –”

Edward shrugged. “She has a point. The train only goes twice a day. I should have sent a telegram to let you know and driven down tomorrow, but I’m afraid I didn’t think. I’m sorry. I know you can hardly want me here, but I’ll keep out of your way for now and just drive you back in the morning.”

“Thank you,” said Nancy, now that the shock was wearing off. She hadn’t wanted anyone there, it was true, but she didn’t mind too much if it was only Edward. “I wasn’t planning on doing anything silly, you know. Well, I did have wild plans for a moment of getting drunk, but it didn’t seem worth it and I’m not even sure there’s any alcohol in the place, so I had some tea.”

He looked suddenly hopeful, and said, “Is there still some in the pot?”

“Oh!” said Nancy. “Is that what you came for? Yes, there is. Help yourself!”

Edward shook his head at her. “Yes, Nancy, obviously it was much easier to drive sixty miles or so in the dark and rain than brave my kitchen, and I couldn’t possibly buy any in a little place like London. That’s why I’m here.” He disappeared into the kitchen before she could tell him what she thought about abusing sarcasm like that.

She headed back into the sitting room and threw herself back into the sofa. Edward returned from the kitchen with a second mug and a tin of shortbread.

“I found these,” he said, taking a piece and then passing the tin across to her.

Nancy shook her head. She still hadn’t even drunk any of the tea. “I don’t want anything,” she said, feeling very tired suddenly. There had been far too much emotion for one evening. “You needn’t worry. I won’t die of starvation in one night. I’ll just have the tea. In a minute.”

“Yes, sorry,” said Edward and stood again. “I’ll take a book and go to the spare room and leave you in peace.”

Nancy gave a wan smile, pressing her head against the sofa cushion as she turned to look at him. “Oh, since you’re here, you might as well _be_ here. I’ve raged, I’ve cried, and I don’t know what the hell to do now. Just – talk to me.”

Edward sat down, but before he could oblige, she straightened herself again and gave him a hard look.

“Why you?” she said. “I didn’t think you liked Marjorie any better than the rest of them?”

Edward swallowed a mouthful of shortbread with a guilty expression. “To be honest, when I realised who it was, I thought something awful must have happened to you. I was so relieved that wasn’t the case that I didn’t really think to ask any questions. And I _don’t_ dislike her, you know. She was on the defensive with all of us – and I suppose that’s understandable – but the few times she wasn’t – well, you’ve liked plenty of worse people.” He gave her an apologetic smile.

Nancy nodded, not quite trusting herself not to start crying again and she was determined not to. Neither of them said anything for a while, and she rested her head on the side of the sofa while Edward finished his piece of shortbread.

“At least you know how it feels,” said Nancy later. “There is that.”

Edward stopped on the point of drinking his tea. “It’s hardly the same, is it?”

“Oh, how could you?” she said, too tired to muster up the energy to be fully angry, but hurt all the same. “I wouldn’t have thought _you_ –” She halted herself and shrugged. “Yes, of course it can’t be the same. Of course, it doesn’t matter as much. It’s all just unnatural, isn’t it? I think the vicar was onto us; he was saying so the other week. Or maybe this _is_ the part where I get to go to hell; it feels like it!”

Edward stared back at her for a long few seconds, and then said, hesitantly, “That wasn’t what I meant. I promise. Only that Caroline and I were together properly for less than three months and most of that was so awful I was relieved when she left. I don’t know still how I felt about her, not really. Whereas you two were together for years. It can’t be the same.”

“Oh,” said Nancy. “Oh, well. You can stay. And have some more shortbread, if you like.”

He shrugged. “Well, I’m here, so I suppose if it helps to vent your feelings at someone – only not too much, Nan, thanks. And, you know, while you don’t have to tell me it’s not the same again, if it’s any consolation, we’ll be going to hell together, won’t we?”

“I think,” said Nancy, sliding down until she was lying rather than sitting on the sofa, “I think actually that only counts when you marry someone else. Or, I suppose, not marry someone else. Which do you suppose is worse?” She was rambling now, she thought, and shut up, laying her head down on the cushion. She nearly missed the significance of his sudden silence, but she glanced over in time to also see his expression. “Oh,” she said. “Goodness. Really?”

“What?” said Edward, but his ears had gone pink at the edges, and she wasn’t fooled.

“And I thought you were the prim and proper one.”

“Look,” Edward said, “I know you must be feeling pretty rotten, but that’s uncalled for.”

Nancy gave a slight, weary shrug and then closed her eyes. She might easily have gone to sleep there if Edward hadn’t suddenly touched her lightly on the shoulder. She opened her eyes again and glared at him. “Leave me be!”

“Hey,” he said. “Are you going to waste that tea? It must already be lukewarm, you know. Come on – sit up, and drink it.”

She didn’t have the energy to argue, and she knew that he was right and that it probably would help. There really was no defence against being sensible. “Very well,” she said, and swung her legs back round and picked up the mug, taking a swig of it. “There. Happy now?”

“Well,” Edward said, “mostly, but you might as well have this, too.” He held out a piece of the shortbread. “These need eating up. How long have they been here?”

She gave an unwilling laugh, and took a bite. Edward was right; they’d gone practically soft. “Yes, nanny,” she said. “Anything else?”

“No, I think that’ll do,” he said. “Do you want me to leave you alone now?”

Nancy shook her head. “No, no. Stay. Talk about normal things. You know.”

Edward nodded, but only watched her finish the tea and then said, “You say that and then I can’t think of anything.”

“Twenty questions?” she said. 

He eyed her warily. “If you must.”

“Are you really having an affair?”

He shifted uncomfortably in the chair, but eventually said, “Well, yes. I suppose so.”

“Goodness,” she said again. “Do I know the person?”

“No.”

Nancy raised her eyebrows. “And you’re not going to say?”

“I can’t, can I?” he said, lowering his voice, as if someone might overhear them even in this hidden spot. “Honestly, Nancy.”

She gave a smile. “Well, you’ve liked plenty of the wrong people, too, you know.”

“This isn’t funny.”

“No, sorry,” she said. “I don’t even want to know, but for heaven’s sake, Ned, be careful.”

“I thought you wanted me to talk to you, not to interrogate me.”

“Yes,” she said. “Tell me about work or something.”

Edward smiled then. “Oh, so, you want to be sent to sleep, yes?” 

“Hmm,” said Nancy, once he’d finished telling her about something that Mr Carlisle had done the other day, “you know, I always thought the damned were supposed to have much more interesting Friday nights than this.”

“Didn’t you know?” said Edward, at his most solemn. “It’s true: the road to Hell is paved with shortbread.”

~o~

_May 1952_

Nancy made her way down the hospital corridor. It was a little ironic, she thought, that she’d gone to great lengths to make emergency arrangements to take the day off from the pharmacy only to spend the time in a different hospital.

She finally spotted Edward, sitting on one of the chairs in the waiting room staring ahead. He didn’t look even when she sat beside him.

“Ned,” she said, and when he turned his head, she put her hand on his arm. “Any news yet?”

He shook his head, and then frowned at her. “Nancy, what are you doing here?”

“Representing the family,” she said. “You phoned Aunt Daisy, who phoned Mother, who phoned me. What did you expect?”

He put a hand up his head. “To let people know,” he said. “I wasn’t asking anyone to come down here.”

“No, but Mother was worried, and since everyone else was in quarantine for mumps, she wanted me to pop over and keep you company. So, here I am. I have today at least, and I brought some tea and sandwiches, too.”

He shook his head as she offered him the flask, and then said, sagging a little, “Nan, something’s wrong. I’m not sure what – I think they said, but I didn’t really take it in, and I’ve not seen anyone since they took Julia away.”

“Tea,” said Nancy firmly, and patted his arm again, before pouring some out of the flask and into the lid, and passing it over. “Careful. It’ll be hot. Now, you wait there, and I shall go and see if I can find someone. At least I’m more versed in the arcane ways of the health service; I can even translate doctor-speak some days. And, Ned, I’m sure it’s not as bad as it seemed, whatever it is.”

Nancy set off down the corridor again in search of anyone who might be able to tell her something more useful. She had dismissed her mother’s anxiety as fussing, even though she’d come down here regardless, but she mentally apologised to her. She should know by now that Mother had some sense and if she’d thought that Edward sounded worried on the telephone, then she was likely to be right. It probably wasn’t anything serious, she thought, but any complications were alarming. She was happy to help Ned if she could, but she did _not_ want to be the one to tell him if something had happened to Julia or the baby.

 

Having hunted around to find a sensible Sister to clarify the situation, Nancy returned only to find the doctor talking to Edward. She hung back, not wanting to barge in, but Edward glanced over and saw her, waiting for her to join them.

“You did say you could translate if necessary,” he told her, after the doctor had gone. He sounded more like himself, even looking slightly amused, now that he had some news and an assurance that there was no danger and that they should let him see Julia again soon.

Nancy sat back down and offered him a sandwich again.

“Nancy,” he said. “I don’t know if you’re allowed.”

She passed it over regardless. “Well, then, quickly before someone sees you.”

Edward laughed and took the sandwich, unwrapping it carefully. Halfway through eating it, he looked at her again, with a frown. “Nancy. Did you say mumps?”

“In quarantine for it,” said Nancy. “Yes. Little Sam started picked it up from a playmate, but it turns out nobody else had had it. David managed to escape – Amy, too, but Matthew went down with it – and so did Aunt Daisy. She had rather a bad time of it, I’m afraid.”

Edward screwed up the paper wrapping in his hand. “Why did no one tell us?”

“Well, you couldn’t have gone down there, could you? And you know what Aunt Daisy is. She was highly embarrassed at the whole thing, besides not wanting to worry you at a time like this.”

Edward leant back in the waiting room chair, stretching himself. “Someone should have told us, you know. I’d had it anyway – went round the school when I was in Second Form.”

“Well, I didn’t know you didn’t know, and it’s hardly important now. Everyone’s on the mend – and I think that nurse is coming this way.”

 

The nurse let them in to see the baby; Julia not having come round yet. Nancy went over immediately, but Edward still had questions for the nurse about Julia. She raised her eyebrows at the tiny red and wrinkled mortal, who opened her eyes and wriggled as if she knew she had attention, even if not yet from the right people.

“Well, hello,” said Nancy. “And don’t worry, I promise that if your parents make a habit of ignoring you like this, your Aunt Nancy will step in and kidnap you.” Then she turned round with a cut off sigh of impatience, because really how many times did one have to make the nurse say that Julia was all right? “Edward,” she said, wondering at his being so dense. “ _Edward_.”

~o~

_1960_

Nancy had gone through the last two weeks or so feeling like a fraud when everyone tried to be sympathetic, even at the funeral. The whole thing was unreal in so many ways: the funeral was not as private as it would have been for anyone else, considering the circumstances, nor, considering the circumstances could it be a state funeral for the Foreign Secretary. She still found it strange to think of Edward in that light; found it baffling that he was someone whose affairs merited comment from the BBC; that she could not hide from the situation by listening to the radio.

It might have been different if she had seen Julia properly since the morning the news had come. She had been at the funeral, but there hadn’t been a chance to speak to her then and none of the family had heard from her since. Maybe, though, it wouldn’t make any difference, because Nancy couldn’t make it real, couldn’t grieve: she was too angry. She was furious with Edward, rigid with rage through the funeral, too much so to trust herself to speak. She couldn’t understand how he could do this to them all, how he could betray his office and leave himself open to all this retrospective commentary that they had to hear, not him. She was too hurt for words that he would use her as he had to get Julia out of the house, and more than anything else that he was not there for her to tell him exactly what she thought of him.

Isabel kept asking if she was all right, which was a stupid question, thought Nancy, because she was fine. Mother had been very upset over the whole thing, Father wouldn’t talk about it at all, and she’d had a distressed cross-Atlantic phone call from Amy to deal with, and Julia seemed to have shut herself away somewhere, but Nancy was fine, and so she told Isabel.

Isabel looked at her. “You don’t usually bite my head off for asking the question. I’m only worried.”

“There’s no reason to be.”

Isabel continued to look at her.

“Oh, I know,” said Nancy. “I’m sorry, love. I am all right. It’s just that I feel so – so angry. I suppose I shouldn’t. There isn’t much point in it any more, but how could he?”

“Hmm,” Isabel said, biting her lip for a moment, and then disappearing for a good five minutes before returning with a candle, which she set in the candlestick on the table, and a pack of cards. She fetched a book from the shelf that Edward had given Nancy, and added that to the collection of things.

Nancy watched in bemusement. “What _are_ you doing?”

“Well, it seems the only answer,” said Isabel, laying out the cards with great concentration. “We’ll have a séance and raise his spirit for you to shout at.”

“Have you lost your senses?” said Nancy, roused from her apathy in a sudden panic, but Isabel only ignored her, pulling the curtains across. “I’m not taking part in anything of the kind, so you can put all that nonsense away, thank you!”

Isabel lit the candle and gave her a smile. “Don’t worry; it’s not as if we’re going to make a habit of it. Come on. You’ve done nothing but snap at me for a week, so I think I deserve to be humoured now, don’t you? What harm can it do? Or do you think I might actually manage to call up the devil?”

The devil, thought Nancy, would be a good deal less alarming than Edward. She glared at Isabel. “Honestly, Isabel. I’m going upstairs until you’ve stopped being so ridiculous. What on earth has got into you?”

“Oh, well, never mind,” said Isabel, sitting down at the table. “Then I shall have to do my best down here alone. What would you like me to say if I succeed?”

Nancy reached the door and turned back. “You’re going to go through with this?”

“I can’t have you like this,” said Isabel. “If this is what it takes, then I don’t see why not.”

Nancy walked slowly back to the table and sat down, raising her hands in a gesture of surrender. “Very well, but I am not taking responsibility for this, nor am I going to sit here chanting or – or _anything_.”

“Of course not,” said Isabel. “You don’t know the proper words anyway.” Then, closing her eyes and calling out for the spirits. Nancy sighed heavily and shut her own eyes, and let Isabel take hold of her hands across the table.

After a while, Isabel said, in a low tone, which, to Nancy’s annoyance, coupled with the dimness of the room did seem to create an atmosphere, “I think we have a window to the spirit world. One of my cards just moved.”

This was all such nonsense, thought Nancy. Did a séance even work like this? She didn’t have the first idea, but she doubted it. Somehow, though, she couldn’t quite say so to Isabel.

“You have until the candle burns down,” said Isabel solemnly. “To say what you want to.”

Nancy had nothing to say, and merely watched the candle before shutting her eyes again. She pulled her hands away from Isabel, and a little while later, Isabel slipped away. Nancy wasn’t going to go along with any of this still, but, she thought, none of it was fair, none of it was right. They were supposed to go to hell together, after all. 

 

Isabel came back in an hour later and pulled back the curtains. Then she crossed back to Nancy, now on the sofa, considerably more tear-stained, and handed her a mug of tea. “There,” she said, and hugged her briefly, not as careful of the tea as she should have been.

Nancy swallowed, and then tried to smile at her. She didn’t know if she felt better or worse for being angry at a candlestick, but somewhere objectively, she knew it was usually a good thing to express one’s feelings rather than bury them. “Isabel, what do you even know about séances?”

“Oh, Nan, love, practically nothing,” said Isabel, kissing her before sitting down beside her. “Only I was fairly sure I knew more than you. I’m sorry. It was a stupid, awful thing to come up with, and I don’t know why I did it, except I thought it must be time to try _something_. I am sorry.”

Nancy managed a short laugh, but it seemed to hurt. “No,” she said. “I think it probably is better this way.”

“And, Nan,” said Isabel, suddenly more serious, causing Nancy to turn her head towards her, “I didn’t hear most of what you said, I promise, but – I – well – don’t think too badly of Edward, not for what he did. If he had reached that point, I don’t suppose he was really thinking of things as he would normally. And maybe you should think of it the other way round: he wanted Julia to be with someone he trusted when she heard the news. He sent her to you, and why wouldn’t he?”

Nancy pushed back into the sofa slightly, not ready to talk about it. “Maybe,” she said. “But I still don’t understand how anyone could do that, let alone Edward.”

“Then, that’s something for you to be thankful for, isn’t it?” said Isabel, her voice matter of fact but lowered with a quiet sadness.

That got through. Nancy looked up again. “Isabel?”

“Years ago,” she said. “Why doesn’t matter now. Why probably wasn’t the point even then. But I’m still here because, luckily for me, I was even more clueless about these things than I am about holding a séance. So, what can I say about anyone else in that situation?”

Nancy took a sip of the tea, and then put it down on the small coffee table, taking Isabel’s hand and then pulling her in against her.

“Nan,” said Isabel after a while. “Are you feeling more yourself now? Because there’s something I need to ask, and I think it’s important.”

Nancy sat up again. “Yes, of course. What is it?”

“I always got the impression that Julia didn’t have much in the way of family of her own.”

“She doesn’t. There used to be an uncle she hated and I think she was in touch with some cousins or other, but no, not really.”

“Well, then,” said Isabel, leaning forward to hand Nancy back her tea, “where is she?”

Nancy shrugged. “I don’t know. With friends, I suppose, or with Mrs Whatsit at the house. I suppose you can understand her wanting not to be with Edward’s family just now. Why?”

“Yes, but she _isn’t_ at the house,” said Isabel. “You haven’t been reading the papers, have you?”

Nancy put down the tea again. “No, no, I haven’t. I don’t want to know what the papers have to say about Edward, thank you. I’m sure they’re busy imagining every murky possibility they can and I would only get angry again.”

“Well, what they’re saying,” said Isabel, “now that Julia is missing, is that they think that’s what it was all about – that Julia was having an affair and has now run off to be with whoever it is.”

“But that’s ridiculous! Good God, Isabel, why are you bothering with what the gutter press says?”

Isabel sighed. “It’s hard not to read things like that when you see them all over the place. But don’t you see what I’m saying? I don’t think that story sounds very likely, either, so where are Julia and Emily? Are you sure no one in the family has heard from them?”

Nancy still didn’t quite see what Isabel was worried about. She wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to face Julia yet; it would be hard to avoid the painful topic. Julia feeling the same way about the Longs was perfectly natural. It was equally understandable that she would want to try and escape the press. “I don’t think so, but honestly, Isabel, I can’t imagine how she’s feeling just now. It’s bad enough for us. I think if I were her, I’d run and hide with a friend, too.”

“But wouldn’t she at least tell your mother where she was?” Isabel said. Then she leant back slightly. “Nancy, your cousin was a Cabinet Minister. We don’t know why any of this happened; we don’t know what he was involved in. All sorts of people might be interested in Julia if they can’t get hold of Edward any more.”

Nancy closed her eyes. “Isabel,” she said, “I love you dearly, but will you save your imagination for your novels? First that séance and now this. What has got into you?”

“Look,” said Isabel, “will you at least think about making some enquiries? Please?”

Nancy could hear the earnest note in her voice, and she looked at Isabel again. It wasn’t like her to be quite this fanciful.

“Must I spell it out?” said Isabel. “You always think about him as only your cousin, and of course you do. But he was the Foreign Secretary and now he’s dead and his wife and daughter have gone missing and wherever they are, it’s enough of a secret that the press haven’t worked it out. Add to that the fact that none of us have heard from her, either, and surely you can see why it’s worrying?”

Grudgingly, Nancy supposed she could, though she did nothing more than nod. She could ask a few people, she thought. It would be reassuring to know that Julia and Emily were all right.

 

Much to Nancy’s surprise, it turned out that Isabel had a point. Nancy made tentative enquiries, first with Mrs Crosbie, but Julia hadn’t said anything to her, either, and hadn’t even left a forwarding address or telephone number. Mrs Crosbie was alarmingly grateful to have Nancy trying to find out something for her. She tried the Colonel and Mrs North next, who were family friends, and all the Colonel had to say was something even more improbable about not having seen Julia since he gave her a gun and then that probably he shouldn’t have told her that.

Nancy realised then how entirely ignorant she’d been of what friends Edward and Julia had. They’d moved in completely different circles and she knew some names, but given how many of them were politicians, not which ones she could go to with a possibly sensitive enquiry. It was hard for Nancy to get her head around the concept that somebody you telephoned merely wanting to know if they’d seen someone else might try to make use of that. She would, she decided, certainly never manage in politics.

Eventually, it occurred to her that she actually knew someone who _did_ sometimes move in those circles and might be able to give her some of the names of people Edward and Julia knew well, and went to see Caroline Sheldon, Edward’s first wife.

 

“You mustn’t,” said Caroline as soon Nancy broached the subject, in earnest, as ever. “I can’t possibly say anything more, but you won’t help them if you go around asking questions. You’ll draw people’s attention to the fact that she really is missing.”

Nancy was startled into silence; unable to think how to respond. She hadn’t expected Caroline to know more than she did. She thought that if that were the case, then perhaps she hadn’t known Edward anything like as well as she had believed, and felt hurt again. “I don’t understand,” she said, when she’d found her voice.

“Oh, I can’t explain,” said Caroline. “There’s so much I don’t really know myself, and I wish I could – I wish Julia had gone to you, or to Amy, I truly do.”

“Then why don’t you tell me where she is?”

Caroline looked down and then up again. “I don’t know that. If I did, I would tell you. All I do know is that you could easily make things so much worse if you try to find her like this. It might have been a long while since we’ve been friends, but you really must trust me.”

“How do you _know_?” Nancy couldn’t help it; she couldn’t keep the hurt from bleeding out. “How could he tell you and not me?”

Caroline put out a hand to Nancy’s briefly, a little awkwardly. “Nancy, Edward didn’t tell me anything. There was something he asked Jack to do – and Jack only told me this much because I asked much the same question as you did. That’s all. But this – this business – it should be over one day, maybe very soon, and when it is, then you’ll have them back.”

~o~

_October 1973_

That had been over ten years ago, and while Nancy had waited and watched for a long while for any sign of Julia or of Emily, once the events of those next few years had played out – Martial Law, the fall of the government, civil war, Hallam establishing himself in power – she had lost hope. It would not be sensible to carry on believing they were still out there, not any more.

Now, it seemed, she was wrong, as far as Emily – Liz – was concerned, anyway. She wondered rather painfully about Julia, and whether or not she should perhaps start hoping again, even making enquiries. Still, the thing was, for today at least, that Liz was here, and that would have to make up for everything.

“Why don’t you tell us what you’ve been up to?” Nancy said. “We’ve some catching up to do, haven’t we?”

Liz gave a slight smile. “I don’t think there’s anything very exciting to tell.”

“It doesn’t have to be exciting,” said Nancy. “You’re here; that’s the thing. There are too few of our family left now, you know. I just wish I’d known how to find you sooner. Still – better late than never, don’t you think?”


End file.
